The Gay Brother
by Sunruner
Summary: Feliciano Vargas made the most difficult decision of his life when he told his family what he was, and he's spent three isolated years suffering with their rejection. Now he has to ask himself a question: if Ludwig can't be there for him, how far will he go and how much will he give up to get them back? Human AU.
1. Car keys and Caramel

**Lost In Paradise, Stronger than Ever.**

**Frickin' failed to write something happy again. AGAIN. For those of you coming from Tumblr: I give you the Break-Up Fic.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Car Keys and Caramel

"I'll drive."

Feliciano loved Ludwig. No, really he did. He loved his partner's hands and the way he used them to fix and build things, taking apart engines and shaping wooden pieces for all kinds of household and industrial projects. He loved the way Ludwig's forehead would crease when he was confounded by blue-prints and that little spark in his baby-blue eyes when something stirred his temper was completely endearing. Feliciano loved Ludwig, but it was really, really hard to remember that sometimes.

"No."

Like right now.

"Why not?"

In the parking lot.

"Because you're tired."

Standing on the driver's side of _Feliciano's_ car.

"I'm fine." He insisted, and inside Feliciano hated the wooden sound in his own voice. Ludwig was standing there in the dark, his boyfriend holding the car keys in one of those beloved hands where he'd just pulled them out of his pocket. Feliciano'd given them to him so he could take the car to work that morning. They weren't Ludwig's.

"You're upset." All of Feliciano's keys were there, the whole ring.

"Give me the keys." He wanted them back.

"Get in the car." They were _his_.

Furious in his own way, Feliciano did what his boyfriend said and climbed into the passenger side seat.

He didn't know how to handle fury, he wasn't used to it. It was like someone had force-fed him flour and milk so his stomach was rolling over itself trying to cope, an intense buzzing prickling his scalp and drowning out his thoughts.

Feliciano didn't like this feeling, because usually he didn't get angry at all. He was more the type to hold something in until it came out through tears and yelling, or hole himself up in the garage they'd converted into a workshop in their Berlin house. He'd paint when he was angry, or sculpt, or go for a really, really, really brisk walk with one of Ludwig's dogs for a few hours. But this time he'd gone right past anger and into complete fury, so as they drove away from the train station the couple endured intense, painful silence all the way.

Feliciano bit his tongue four times, trying not to demand that Ludwig pull over and give him back his keys.

"Well," no, Ludwig. No talking, not right now. "Now that that's settled," Settled? What was settled? What part of tonight was _'settled'_? "At least we can go home and just enjoy a quiet evening."

Feliciano couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to punch another man so hard. The drive behind the thought was frightening and he curled his hand in front of his lips trying to keep his fingers from lashing out. He bit one knuckle and tried to keep his lover from noticing it. He was ashamed of the anger, but the shame just fed that pitching heat in his gut.

"I know you're mad, but you'll feel better in the morning."

How about no?

Feliciano bit his tongue and he bit it hard until the car pulled up in the drive-way outside their home. They lived a fair ways from the centre of Berlin, so they both had to drive a ways to get to work: Ludwig to various job-sites around the city where his company placed him each week, Feliciano to the nearest train station so he could get down to the National Art Gallery every morning. They were in Feliciano's car because Ludwig's was in the shop for serious repairs: he'd damaged the driver's side door yesterday.

The silence persisted until Ludwig turned off the engine and extracted the keys, and then Feliciano spoke. He shifted his weight in his seat too; arms crossed over his chest as if to highlight the fact that he hadn't buckled his seat-belt before they left. He glanced at his wrist-watch and let the steady German words flow.

"We just left my brother at a train station at ten-thirty at night," a brother Feliciano hadn't seen in half a year, "he arrived less than two days ago, and you think I'm going to feel better in the morning." He was a brother Feliciano'd had to plead and beg with for over a month before he agreed to come all this way in the first place. And he'd just sent him back.

"I think once you've slept on it and calmed down, you'll recognize that I couldn't just let that kind of behaviour slide." He refused to answer that statement, if only because Feliciano couldn't think fast enough around the drone in his head to come up with one. "If your brother wants to visit us again, then he can conduct himself properly and show his host due respect."

"I was his host." Host, he clung to that word. The host was the person who offered the invitation, who prepared the guest room, who bought the extra groceries and set the additional spot at the table. The host was not the one who threw a fit over conduct and a mess in the kitchen and then dumped his guest on a train platform in the middle of a foreign city.

"And when he wasn't insulting me, he was yelling at you." Ludwig was just sitting there with the keys in his lap, Feliciano keeping his arms folded tight so he didn't lunge for them. "That's not acceptable."

"I have a big family. We yell." A big family Feliciano had not seen in a very, very long time. And now as soon as Lovino got home, and as soon as he could sit down with grandpa or any of their family, he'd be brimming with new, terrible stories about the German Bastard who had stolen one their brother away. Feliciano could expect to hear back from at least one of his uncles sometime tomorrow, and it would be a fun hour-and-a-half of the beloved father-figure-of-choice criticizing his choices, lamenting his lifestyle, yelling about how much Feli had forgotten about family loyalty, and ultimately begging him to please consider moving back to Italy.

After three years in Berlin, his family was still convinced his bags were packed and he just hadn't told them yet. After three years in Berlin his lover was still hell-bent on making defending him against the family so much harder than it had to be.

"_Feli..." _Augh- and! And the way he just had to sigh like that, with the disappointment and the scolding and the- "I know you're family's important to you, but you have to be reasonable-"

"Four days," he interrupted, and Feliciano didn't care that he almost never, ever, got up the nerve to cut someone off like that, least of all Ludwig. It was just so rude and disrespectful that he- "I asked you for four days, that's all I wanted. I didn't want you to spend any money, I didn't want a big party, I didn't want you to take any time off work- I didn't even mind that you actually _found _work yesterday so you wouldn't have to go with me and pick him up. On a Sunday!"

"I _knew_ you were mad about that." Ludwig's fingers were drumming over his keys.

"No!" The drumming caused such a loud jangle that Feliciano willed the noise in his head to get louder and drown it out. "I'm mad that I asked you for four days and you barely gave me two. I'm mad because-"

"You're being irrational-"

"_I'm being serious!"_ Oh god, he was shouting- "I just put my older brother on a midnight train back to Rome! He's only person who can keep me _in_ the family, and I just threw him _out!_" No, why was he shouting? "Who were you to make that decision? _Why!"_ That voice wasn't his, it didn't sound like him, but there it was with all of his fears and anxiety, screaming them at the person who was making him _so. damn. mad_.

"You haven't been back to Italy in years," Ludwig snapped back, feeding the rage. "You can't tell me that all of the sudden you-"

"Because the last time I went, I shamed them!" Oh, he didn't even want to think about it. The engagement rings, the crying in the street. He didn't want to rememberthe yelling, and the blaming, and the burnt photographs, and the hundred other things that he didn't have the strength to cry about or wallow in right now. He just had this anger: he had all of this _rage._ "So yes, he had a lot to say, and yes he's a bit of a dick, Ludwig, but-"

"I'm not going to just let someone come into my house and scream at you about his god!"

"_Our _house and _my _God!" Two corrections and another topic they never talked about, because as soon as he said it Ludwig rolled his eyes. As soon as he mentioned one of the things he wasn't allowed to talk about, Ludwig dismissed him.

"Whatever." The taller man grunted, popping open the car door and sticking one leg out on the asphalt. "I'm going to bed."

"Give me back my keys." Ludwig stopped, his body twisted half-way out the driver's side door. He craned his neck around and looked back at Feliciano, who held one hand out expectantly and kept the other clenched tight to his chest. The keys were hanging by his boyfriend's thick, calloused thumb, the cut steel glinting in the dim orange light of the street lamp hanging at the end of their drive-way.

Without a word, Ludwig finished getting out of the car, wrapped the keys up in his long fingers, shut the door, and walked away.

And Feliciano sat there _hating him._

* * *

Ludwig loved Feliciano. No, he really did. He loved the way he always tilted his head just-so to the side when he was thinking, the way his little pink tongue would poke out from between his soft lips when he was looking for words. He was always moving, always animated, and while that could be frustrating sometimes Ludwig chose to love it instead. His favourite thing to say was that if Feliciano wanted to, he could dance across a rainy street and dodge every drop. He loved the sound of his partner's laugh.

But sometimes, Ludwig just wanted Feliciano to grow up.

Ludwig didn't like sleeping in an empty bed. As a child he'd usually shared one with Gilbert for one reason or another, but he'd forced himself to get over it when his brother enlisted in the army and Ludwig had to adjust. But he still didn't like sleeping completely alone, and sometimes if no one was there he'd wake up as soon as his back or his shoulder touched a cold patch on the mattress or blankets.

That was what woke him up before his 6 AM alarm on Tuesday: the bed was cold. Feliciano's pillow was undisturbed next to him, his lover hadn't even bothered to untuck the sheets so Ludwig could pretend he'd at least tried coming to bed after their little spat. It was frustrating, and even when he briefly considered making an apology, the frustration crushed it and left him tense and bitter between the cold sheets.

The first thing he did was roll over and check his bed-side drawer. Feliciano's keys were still there, and despite himself Ludwig felt validated. Feliciano had listened to him, had obeyed him, and he acknowledged that Ludwig had been right all along. Hah.

With those thoughts in mind, he showered and shaved and dressed himself for work without turning on his alarm. There were blue-prints in his briefcase from last night but he didn't need to look over them. His work as a civil engineer was extremely important to him and his household, but he could afford to track down his sulking lover before driving downtown.

"Uh, hey, dude..." But he was still checking something work-related in his phone when Gilbert caught his attention from the bedroom door. Ludwig was surprised to see his older brother up and wandering around this early in the morning, but in a wife-beater and shorts, hair unbrushed and wearing some obvious scruff, Gilbert hardly qualified as _'awake'_. "You gotta talk to yer wife." Huh?

"What's he doing?" Feliciano'd probably spent the night downstairs on the couch, or in the spare bedroom where Lovino had been staying. Ludwig slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and reached for his briefcase, Gilbert watching with a yawn and a shrug.

"Makin' a shit load a noise in the kitchen." A tantrum? Really? "Ain' it his birthday or somethin'?"

"Today, yes." Ludwig huffed, not impressed with Gilbert's report of Feliciano's antics. He didn't have much else to say though and Gilbert didn't seem interested. The younger brother made sure to grab the keys from that little drawer before quickly taking the stairs down to the main level.

He could hear the noise, but the first thing Ludwig could _smell_ was burnt caramel and red wine. The dining room table was still set from last night, but someone had picked up the wine bottle that had dropped off the top and spilled its contents across the tile floor. The sticky mess was still sitting there like blood at a crime scene, following the slight tilt of the house and rolling back towards the kitchen.

The half-eaten piece of bread Feliciano's brother had been stuffing his face with was still on one of the plates, and Ludwig assumed Gilbert was responsible for the fact that the pasta had been left uncovered all night. He'd smelled crab last night, so something on the table had probably spoiled by now.

Burnt caramel had triggered things last night, it had been the spark. Ludwig had been struggling to hold a semi-civil conversation with Feliciano's older brother, the two of them fighting to keep on topics they could both discuss. That meant business: Lovino had inherited the restaurant their grandfather had opened up back in the fifties, Ludwig was climbing the ranks of the small company he worked for.

They didn't talk politics (Ludwig wouldn't say it, but he was convinced the Vargas' were closet-Fascists), or weather (Lovino hated the cold, Ludwig hated the heat), or sports (Italy versus Germany, enough said), or pets (Lovino had a cat, Ludwig loved his dogs). Cars were an alright alternative, but only if Feliciano was there to mediate, which he hadn't been. Family and religion were so far down the list of acceptable topics that they didn't even get a spot, so for an hour they'd awkwardly clung to the one topic they had only five minutes of content for.

Ludwig couldn't even remember how it had all blown up. He just knew that one of the dozens of things cooking in the kitchen had been a sauce-pan filled with caramel, and that the caramel was for something Lovino had wanted to make for today, so they'd started with it yesterday. One of them had forgotten to turn the heat off, or Feliciano had simply stopped paying attention to it, and suddenly it was a charred mess of three-hundred-degree sugar spewing smoke and trying to eat through the pan.

The brothers had flung themselves into full, fast Italian as soon as Lovino and Ludwig stormed into the kitchen to answer the fire-alarm. He couldn't understand the language well enough to translate it, but Ludwig understood when Lovino burnt himself that he turned, swearing, on his brother. He also knew the Italian word for '_faggot'_, and that was when Ludwig snapped.

He refused to apologize for defending what was his. He refused to feel bad about doing the right thing.

"Feliciano?" Now if only his boyfriend would _grow up _and stop sulking about it.

Ludwig already knew he'd taken the day off from the gallery, so seeing Feliciano in the same clothes from yesterday and obviously not ready to leave the house was not a surprise. His brown jacket had been slung over one of the stools hovering around the kitchen's island unit, blue shirtsleeves rolled up over his elbows and hands lost under suds and hot water at the sink. Ludwig knew even without approaching that his boyfriend was holding the infamous caramel pan and scrubbing the copper like a fiend, trying to save it, but there were plenty of signs to suggest that Feliciano wasn't calm yet.

Like the dish of potatoes that had been up-ended onto the stone floor: Ludwig was certain they'd still been on the counter after they came home last night. There was also no reason for his beer bottles to be standing empty next to the sink, their labels peeled off and soap suds still slipping down their glass sides. Those had been full before he'd gone to bed, and not even Gilbert would have had all six in one go. One of the little planters Feliciano used to grow fresh herbs was also broken on the counter next to him, the hook that had suspended it from the ceiling ripped right out of the plaster.

Petulant.

"Feliciano-"

"There's no breakfast, buy something." His boyfriend's quick, softly-accented words were unexpectedly harsh and Ludwig flinched despite himself. If he kept scrubbing like that he'd wear a hole straight through the pan.

"I'll just fry an egg-" Feliciano bashed the copper against the bottom of the sink, splashing soap and hot water over the counter before he set his hands on the fake stone and just leaned on it, head down for a moment before he looked up out the window into their garden. "Or not..."

The silence was deep and awkward. The March sunlight wasn't warming anything up, white light washing over the marbled counter-tops and the cherry-wood finish on the cabinets. The light shone over his hands and Ludwig wondered when Feliciano's skin had stopped glowing. His long fingers looked bent and crooked on the counter, the soap washing away the bronze tint his corded arms had always worn, like it had just been an illusion.

Almost every surface in the kitchen had something or other stuck to it from last night, flour from pasta and pastries, puddles of salted water, carrot tops, potato skins, butter smears, spilled pepper, etc. Feliciano was an amazing cook, but he didn't know how to leave the kitchen looking like anything short of a disaster.

Despite his temper, he might as well give it a go. Ludwig tried one last time to extend an olive branch to his over-sensitive lover.

"I was going to make a reservation for two tonight. I know that you-"

Without listening, Feliciano stepped away from the sink and went straight to the back door, bypassing the stairs that led down to Gilbert's basement suite and ignoring the happy German Shepherd that was waiting to greet the Italian. He wrenched the door open and vanished outside without a word, and Ludwig felt his patience wearing thin. He could either fix up his breakfast and get to work on time, or deal with his partner's little tantrum now and ruin the rest of his day.

He chose the wiser path: Ludwig went to work.

* * *

**Okay! Just some information for you guys regarding updates.**

**The Break-up Fic is a very long beast, but I've only written a shameful four chapters of it (working on number five when I posted this). It is also jam-packed with headcanons that break a lot of AU rules about Feli and Ludwig.**

** I've no idea what a proper update schedule would look like, especially since I just started my ESL Practicum and that takes priority over all fan fiction. But, Practicum is only 2-3 weeks, then I get my certification and life is wonderful. I'm thinking 1 update a week so I'll have time for this and my HetaOni projects, but we'll see. I'll do my best!**

**And you, you will review!**


	2. Cellphones and Big Brothers

**Severus and Lily, Fatal Fury, Lost in Paradise, Not Enough.**

**I haven't worked on anything for this story, which is why I didn't update when I said I would.**

**Think of this maybe as more of a world-building exercise? It's not as polished as I'd otherwise like.**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Cell Phones and Big Brothers

To be completely honest,

And a little bit unfair.

The reason he left,

Was Gilbert.

* * *

There had been a possibility, however small, that he could have caught Lovino at the train station that morning, but his brother had probably taken one of the first trains out of the city. Feliciano bought one of the last four tickets on the _very_ last southbound train to Munich for that morning, and by quarter to nine he watched Berlin fall away behind him.

* * *

It was ten-thirty by the time Ludwig made it back home. He normally never left work early, nevermind before lunch, but this was an emergency and his boss had been too stunned by his request to leave to bother asking why. For all Ivan knew Ludwig's house had caught on fire and was about to explode, and right now he couldn't think far enough ahead to work out how he would explain this.

"He _hit_ you?" Ludwig found his brother sitting on their couch with a bag of frozen peas held to his swollen jaw. When he grinned, which Ludwig found highly inappropriate, there was _blood _in Gilbert's mouth and the younger brother felt a horrible sinking feeling pool in his gut. "You're bleeding!"

"Not a lot." Gilbert was far more awake now than he'd been when Ludwig had left, and the dining room was just as messy as when he'd turned around and gone to work. His brother pulled the frozen pack away from his jaw and Ludwig shook his head in disbelief: the entire bottom of Gilbert's left cheek was going purple. "He's pretty strong when he's mad."

"Strong? He assaulted you!"

"Yeah, kinda."

"_Kinda?"_

"Hey, bro, I didn't call you 'cause I can't ice a tooth." Gilbert edged back a little on the wide blue couch, sticking one bare foot up on the coffee table before reclining back and dabbing his chin with the cold again. "Go check what he took with him, he was somethin' mad when he left."

"Took with him?" To Ludwig, that was a nonsense statement. He'd already seen all three of their dogs, so Feliciano wasn't out walking them. He always did that when he was upset: he'd walk the animals until their paws wore out if he was mad enough, and then he'd maybe go for a run or attack the modeling clay they kept in the garage.

Ludwig stared at his brother, and in his wife-beater and shorts Gilbert just shrugged and nodded back up the stairs.

Feeling cold, Ludwig took the stairs two at a time to reach the second floor. He didn't know why he checked their home office first, but he did, and Feliciano's laptop was missing.

No.

The closet in their bedroom was open. Most of Feliciano's clothes were still there, but several jackets were gone. The gear from Feliciano's gym bag had been dumped on the bed- his running shoes, a bottle of cheap shampoo, a half-used bar of soap, spare shirt and shorts, and some extra socks all abandoned on his side of the bed cold.

_No._

In the bathroom his razor and toothbrush were gone, no aftershave or cologne sitting on the ledge in front of the mirror. Back in the bedroom Ludwig ignored the folded jeans and shirts as he tore through his boyfriend's drawers. He was looking for the little cherry-wood box where Feliciano kept what little gold and the few keepsakes he owned. There was an old photo of Feliciano, his brothers and his mother inside of it, plus a pair of gold cufflinks from his grandfather, a silver cross from his first communion, a class ring from Ludwig's Alma-Mater, and a few other nick-nacks and baubles that he never pulled out and had never explained to Ludwig.

But the box was gone.

"No… no, you didn't…"

He'd left shirts and shoes and jackets and hats and scarves behind, all in their neat little places.

"No, please no…"

But he'd taken the box.

"Feliciano…"

He'd taken cufflinks and the cross and the photographs.

"You-"

And he'd left Ludwig's class ring on the floor.

"_SON OF A __**BITCH!**__"_

* * *

Feliciano was not ignorant of Gilbert's situation, or of the strong bond between the brothers. He also had nothing against the army, not even the peace-keeping mission in Afghanistan from which Gilbert had returned with an honourable discharge.

Gilbert did not hate gays, and Feliciano did not resent the fact that Ludwig and Gilbert had _always _lived together. He didn't find it strange that two brothers who had grown up more or less alone were determined to help and stay close to one another through thick and thin. He did, however, find it hard to accept _everything_ about Ludwig's brother, and his patience had effectively run out.

It was one thing for Gilbert not to work; he'd been honourably discharged for acts of bravery, but he'd still been discharged because the army couldn't use him anymore. Feliciano had only met him once before it had happened, briefly, when Ludwig's brother had been on leave before he shipped back out to Afghanistan. Feliciano knew just from that one hazy holiday night that the young officer he'd seen at the Christmas Party was a completely different person from the hollow, gritty veteran who slept in their basement-

Ah, no. Not their basement: Ludwig's basement. They'd bought the house together but that was going to get complicated soon, so it was Ludwig's basement now. Feliciano wanted nothing to do with Gilbert's cave.

Reaching up, he popped open the hatch over the row of train seats and slung his bag up into the provided space, happy to do the same for the short German girl whose seat was next to his. He didn't mind giving up the window-seat for her; he was going home, she was going someplace new.

But in the beginning he'd been fine with Gilbert not working. Even if he hadn't completely understood it, even if he still really didn't, Feliciano couldn't resent Gilbert for being a bit skittish, or a bit distracted, or a bit blunt and gruff and just plain off after what had happened to him. An IED ambush had killed several members of his platoon, and the rest of them had been taken out by gunmen hiding in the barren landscape. Gilbert had watched his second family die right in front of and around him.

Feliciano couldn't resent that.

But after three years, he was entitled to know when Gilbert would start paying for gas when he used the cars. Or what he was always borrowing money from Ludwig for. And if he couldn't hold down a job then fine, when was he going to start cooking dinner? Or doing the laundry? Or taking care of the yard? Or walking the dogs?

And if Gilbert wasn't going to do any of the housework, then what in God's name made him think it was okay to pull Ludwig away from the chores too? Feliciano worked too, not just Ludwig. And no he didn't spend his days on construction sites in the sun and the rain, pouring over blue-prints and ordering men around half-built structures. But Feliciano worked too. He brought home a pay-cheque too. He was a skilled, specialized artist who worked to restore old, priceless pieces of national art. He spent forty hours a week hunched over lit magnifying glasses with tiny brushes and pots of pain-stakingly matched tones and hues and oils and acrylics and anything else the artist in front of him had chosen to work with.

He deserved to come home to a hot meal too sometimes, not his boyfriend and Gilbert drinking beer and watching the game and asking him when their dinner would be ready. Gilbert had no right to expect Feliciano to strip his bed and wash his sheets for him every week, or to make it for him in the morning. He was not the Beilschmidt maid.

And by God, Feliciano had a _name_, not that Gilbert ever bothered to use it. Feli was tolerable, not his favourite name, but he could stand it and if it was someone he liked then okay, sure, he was fine with it.

'_Ludwig's wife'_ was not okay.

'_The girl'_ was not okay.

'_Sister_' was definitely _not okay._

'_Felicia'_ had never and would never be okay.

The train's seats were small and uncomfortable, but he couldn't imagine spending the extra money on an upgrade to business class. He'd need to spend wisely for the next little while, and the stiff cushions were tolerable for a train ride he hadn't known he'd be taking until a few hours ago...

Believe it or not, Feliciano actually knew a thing or two about Italian names. He knew that his name was unorthodox, and so had all the children he'd grown up with. His brother Lovino's name had been just as strange and a bother to pronounce too since no one was ever willing to just slow down and say it right. But between the three of them Carlino had recieved the shortest stick when it came to bad names. He looked nothing like a pug, and why his parents would give him a name that meant "Pug" in their language was just... why? School-yards were dangerous places, and if both your older brothers already had silly names then it was guaranteed that a dog's name would get you treated worse than the actual animal.

Thankfully, you did not grow up in a small rural town with one older brother, and one younger brother, and no father, and a grandfather who saw bruises as badges of honour, and not learn how to prove that a silly name was not an excuse to pick on you. Feliciano had probably lost the better half of all the school-yard scraps he'd been in as a child, but his odds had always increased dramatically if his bigger, stronger older brother was around, or if someone made the very, very big mistake of letting Feliciano catch whoever it was laying a hand on his smaller, weaker little brother.

So, back to his original point: Feliciano understood why he would never be able to ask Ludwig to choose between him and Gilbert. He wouldn't be able to love him the same way if he could throw family out like that, it wasn't possible, it was unacceptable.

But so was hypocrisy.

Ludwig did not get to assume the high ground about respect and tolerance in front of Feliciano. He did not get to call Feliciano's brother a vagrant and a nuisance or condemn him for having an opinion. He did not get to scoff at Feliciano's God and dismiss the very tense misgivings from the Vargas family because he didn't agree with them. Ludwig could not behave as one who was blameless and innocent while ignoring just how much bias he carried; Feliciano wouldn't _let him_.

Not with that lazy, broken slob living in their basement.

Not with that money-sponging waste sleeping on their couch.

Not with that arrogant prick ordering him around with a girl's name, no matter how many times Feliciano had told him to stop it or to wash his own sheets.

Not with Gilbert-Damned-Beilschmidt strutting around that house, bitching about why Feliciano always cooked Italian food, or why he was always drinking Italian wine, or why when he was angry he would start speaking the Italian language. Ex-Corporal Gilbert Beilschmidt did not _get_ an opinion on what kind of man Lovino Vargas was, least of all when the only one there to hear him croon was _Feliciano_ Vargas, armed with a copper skillet in his hands and three years of resentment burning in his gut.

So Feliciano Vargas was on the first leg of a six hour train ride to Munich, at which point he would be free to purchase a ticket down to Rome. He had a week's worth of clothes in that duffle bag stuffed in the compartment over his head, a train ticket in his jacket pocket and no keys to worry between his fingers or jangle to relieve his stress.

He had the cell phone he'd already used once to call his co-workers at the museum and kindly request at least another week's vacation on top of the three days he'd already taken. Mr Edelstein was not pleased with him, but Feliciano had insisted, and there was nothing actually wrong with his request except of course for his timing. Roderich wasn't usually the most forgiving person but, well, Feliciano had insisted. He was on his way home again for the first time in three years, and to be completely honest if he had to then he would (somehow) just find another job.

He carefully flexed his fingers around the electronic and saw a familiar and infuriating dear name flash over the phone's screen. He saw it and he ignored it, and he silently hoped that Gilbert's jaw hurt half as much as his own badly bruised hand.

* * *

Ludwig called him.

And then he called him again.

And then he called him again.

He kept calling Feliciano until he was too frustrated to think straight, too furious to speak, and too shocked to keep standing. He dropped onto the couch next to Gilbert and flung one arm over his eyes, horrified and miserable.

"He won't pick up…"

"Runs like a girl when he's mad, right?" Ludwig didn't look up at the comment, but he did feel Gilbert clap him roughly on the shoulder. "Relax, he'll come back."

"He took everything."

"In that one little bag?" He'd taken all the important things. "Dude, buck up." Buck up? _Buck up?_

"My husband just left me over _nothing!_" Ludwig shouted, because it was better than having his voice break in front of his brother. He sat forward and tossed his phone down on the coffee table, his hands free to just grasp at the air like he could reach out for the person he'd just lost. Whether he'd hug Feliciano in that moment or strangle him was a question Ludwig couldn't answer. He was insulted when Gilbert just snickered at him.

"Dude, his diploma's still on the wall."

"What?" He looked at his brother, who had changed position while Ludwig yelled. He was laying on his back now with a hand behind his head, the frozen peas slowly thawing in a puddle of water on the wood floor. Gilbert gestured with one bent thumb over to the television and the two framed documents hanging above the sound system. One was Ludwig's, the other had his partner's name inked on the front.

"And his work kit's still under the stairs." Feliciano's paints; the meticulously mixed and matched pallets and chemicals he used at the museum. He kept the pots and brushes and assorted tools in a sturdy black work box about the size of Ludwig's leg and hauled it back and forth with him across the city. Some of it was the museum's property, the rest belonged to Feliciano himself.

"He'll come back for those." And then he'd leave again, Ludwig was sure.

"He didn't mention them when he left."

"Well what _did_ he mention?"

"Eh, this-and-that…" This and that…? "Look," Gilbert sat up slowly and Ludwig dropped his head into his hands, trying to hold onto that burning sensation in his throat and gut, hoping the shaking he could feel in his arms was from something other than what had just happened to him.

"Dude, it's nauseating how much you two love each other." And yet they'd been tense and awkward around one another all week- no, ever since Ludwig had found out that Feliciano'd convinced his brother to come up and visit them. It was agonizing to watch his lover pine for the love he'd never get from his family again, but Feliciano wouldn't give up, and Ludwig couldn't stand it. "Betcha anything he'll be back by tonight. Once he calms down he'll run right back home and everything'll go back to how it's supposed to be."

"Do you really think that?" Ludwig asked. He then realized his palms and cheeks were wet, hot water seeping out of his eyes while Gilbert returned that warm hand to his shoulder and kept it there.

"Five Euros says he's riding around the block on the same bus that picked him up." Because Ludwig had Feliciano's car, so he would have had to take transit to get anywhere… "Ten says he's back here in an hour." He met his brother's eye and saw Gilbert trying his best to smile, and despite himself Ludwig felt better.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Dude, how can I not?"

If he was sure then… okay…

* * *

Four hours later, Feliciano was still on the train. The calls from Berlin had stopped a while ago, leaving the Italian ex-patriot fumbling with his phone and struggling to make contact with Lovino. He couldn't bring himself to believe that he was getting himself into this much trouble with his partner without the slightest chance of patching things up with his brother.

And he was definitely in trouble with Ludwig. He was in so, so much trouble with him, but at the same time there had been something rewarding in watching the name flash on his screen only to be repeatedly silenced by his thumb hitting the "ignore" button. He was almost positive that Lovino was using karma to torment him the same way now, but that hadn't stopped Feliciano from relishing in the power of telling his lover to go to hell.

He didn't want to talk to Ludwig right now, not yet, because if Feliciano stopped for a minute and recognized where he was and what the hell he was doing, then he'd realize that he was terrified. He was angry, and anger was giving him courage, but he had so much more to be frightened of. There were lots of good reasons for why he hadn't been home in years, and more than one of them involved the threat of bodily harm should he show his face in town again. If he stopped trying to call Lovino then he'd realize that his hands were shaking. If he stopped sneering down at the phone then he'd probably burst into tears from the horror of what he was about to do.

What if Ludwig over-reacted the way Feliciano knew he_ himself _was over-reacting? What if he claimed abandonment? For God's sake he was only going to be gone for a week, right? He wasn't defaulting on their mortgage and he wasn't leaving his job and career behind. He just wasn't going to be Gilbert's maid or Ludwig's chef for a week. That wasn't the same as filing for divorce, was it? No, of course not, they weren't even married! Two men couldn't get married, and Ludwig wasn't there to scowl at him for thinking like that either.

In fact, Ludwig wasn't there at all, so instead of letting that thought put him into a fit of panic, Feliciano made another instinctive, rash decision:

The first thing he would do when he reached Rome was buy cigarettes. It was going to be the very, very first thing he did, and the second would be to smoke one. The habit was gross and it was filthy and it was going to kill him and _blah blah blah_, but he'd quit because of Ludwig, and Ludwig wasn't here, so that was going to be his welcome back to Italy.

Feliciano had his seat tilted back and his eyes closed when his phone buzzed yet again in his lap. He was trying to think of more things he would do _without Ludwig_ and he almost hit the ignore button on the device without checking it this time, but habitual courtesy demanded he open one eye and-

_Oh!_

"Fratello?" He almost cried out the word with the phone to his ear, but on a crowded train he couldn't go making a terrible scene. But still, in that moment he lurched so far forward in his seat that his head was almost down between his knees, which was appropriate, because if there'd been enough room between the rows then he probably would have crumbled just to show his deep and utter thanks.

He heard only silence and his heart began to hurt, a physical pressure building in his chest and making it hard to breathe. Please say something, please just-

He heard a long, hissing breath, then;

"_What the fuck do you want?" _Thank God it was him, it was actually Lovino on the other end of the line. "_Well? You have some fucking balls calling me, Feliciano, so you'd better fucking-"_

"Are you home yet?" Feliciano blurted, realizing with horror that his tongue was confused between German and Italian and formed none of the words correctly in either language. Lovino's suddenly silence made sense: what the heck had he just said?

"I mean-" Italian- _Italian! _He found the little switch at the base of his tongue and slipped properly into the language he'd been raised in, fumbling at the same time for the mental screens and slides that separated fluent German thoughts from natural Italian structures. "Are you still in Rome, or have you reached home yet? Where are you?"

"_As if that's any of your fucking business!_" Oh, fratello, please don't be like this- "_You let Kraut-Breath run you around like his little fucking wife and then you -" _Fine, fine, be this way, two could play this game:

"Lovino!" Feliciano was not yelling, he was speaking loudly. "I'm on the train now _where are you?_"

"_I'M IN FUCKING MUNICH." _Lovino was the same, just louder. "_YOUR SHIT-HEAD BOYFRIEND DUMPED ME AT THE FUCKING TRAINS NOT THE FUCKING AIRPORT, SO I-_"

"Then just stay there!_"_

"_**WHY?**__"_

"_Because I'm coming!"_

"_**Coming? **__What do you mean coming? Where are you coming?"_

"_I'm coming __**home!**__"_

"_Oh..."_ The line went quiet. Feliciano didn't expect it and wound up with a lung full of air and nothing to say back into the phone. In the background he thought he heard a car horn, but it was far away, down a busy street maybe. "_Wait, no- wait! How the fuck are you on your way home if I was on the first-?"_

"You took the first train and I'm on the last one!" Feliciano pushed up his sleeve and quickly checked the time, frantically trying to keep his weak composure. "I'm only an hour behind you, just _stay there._"

"_Okay. Okay __**fine. **__Unless that bas-"_

"It's just me," he interrupted, feeling his heart start to pound in his ears with the abrupt drop in volume. Very, very few things could shock Lovino into silence. "I mean it's- I only have a week off, I have a job, bills, those things and-"

"_And you're coming home?"_

"Yes."

"_And you're sure about that?"_

"No." From a beating heart to flushed cheeks, it was suddenly very hot on the train. People were still looking at him after his outburst too… "But I want to try."

"…" Oh, God. Don't be quiet like that, say something… "_Do you want me to call ahead? Should I tell anybody?"_

"I don't know…" Pounding heart, flushed cheeks, sweaty palms. There were many, many reasons why he hadn't done this before, and as much as Feliciano wanted to reach out now for the person next to him, that person wasn't _his_ person: he'd left him back in Berlin. "I- I'm not sure what I'm doing, I just-"

"_Well, I haven't bought my ticket yet so just get here, and we'll work all that out after." _Yes, after, and-

"Cigarettes."

"_What?_"

Feliciano tried to lean back into his seat again, struggling to calm down as he closed his eyes and let the back of his head rest on the stiff foam cushion behind him. With one hand he rubbed his forehead and cheek, wiping away the clammy feel of half-dried sweat and panicked nerves.

"The first thing I want when we get there: wherever we go, I want cigarettes..."

His brother gave a sharp laugh, and it sounded like home.

* * *

**I'll update sometime soon~ I do have up to chapter 5 done, I'm just stuck on a particular scene so, bleh.**

**Comments? Feedback? Thoughts? Review!**


	3. Cigarettes and Apple Cider

**Ninna Nanna, Memories, Utopia, Someone to Save You, All Faith Is Lost**

**The Prumano bug bit my hand and chewed through my entire week(end). D: I want to work on thiiiiis but I haven't. Still sitting on chapter 5...**

**But I like this chapter. I wasn't expecting the dialogue to go the way it did.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Cigarettes and Apple Cider

Lovino was standing there with a packet of cigarettes when Feliciano climbed off the train from Berlin. He had the same beaten up travelling trunk he'd dragged up the stairs of Ludwig's house with him, and Feliciano was carrying the dufflebag that had been holding his running gear just eight, maybe nine hours earlier.

Because they were brothers, the two of them looked a lot alike, and growing up everyone had always said that Feliciano was Lovino except in a lighter pallet. They could have been twins if Feliciano had grown a finger-span taller and darkened his skin by two shades of gold. All three brothers had traded features evenly between their parents: Feliciano and Carlino had their mother's copper-red hair, Lovino and Carlino again had taken her sage-green eyes, and the two older brothers had her smile.

They didn't talk about the other parent.

"I'm sorry," were the first words Lovino squeezed out of him when the two met in a fierce, breathless hug in the middle of the platform. "I'm sorry, Lovino. I'm so, so sorry-" With his brother's arms hooked around him Feliciano could admit it easily now: he was scared. He was going out of his mind from fear, he didn't know what he was doing and it was going to get him hurt or worse and-

"And you should be," his brother scolded, but he didn't let go of him, in fact he squeezed him a little tighter. "Where the hell's my little brother? My Feliciano doesn't take shit from stupid potato-eaters." He had one hand behind Feliciano's head and the other hugging him tight under one arm, the younger man pressing his face against the older one's shoulder. Lovino was still wearing the same grey jacket from yesterday, and he'd probably slept in it waiting for the trains to start running again. There were dark circles under his brother's eyes that said he hadn't found a hotel to take him at almost eleven last night…

"_Please_ forgive me," Feliciano whispered again, feeling worse the longer he wallowed in what had happened.

"Fine, you're forgiven. Now come on." Lovino stepped back slowly, and Feliciano wondered how terrible he must have looked in contrast if his brother was willing to be so nice. Lovino didn't grin openly very often, sometimes sure, like when everything had been going just great for a few days at a time, but now wasn't like that. His brother was wearing a crooked grin over his white teeth, a smile Feliciano hadn't seen in a very, very long time, but he knew it was the one Lovino wore when he was trying very, very hard to be nice.

"Where are we going?" His brother started walking them away from the trains and through the loud, busy station. Munich was a transportation hub, terminals and trains funnelling in and out of the city, out of the country, across the continent. It was three in the afternoon and the entire place was absolutely brimming with people and noise. After several years in Berlin Feliciano was used to big crowds, but how was Lovino handling it so well?

"I bought us two tickets on the night train to Rome, it's the only one running." That sounded terrible, spending the night on a train, but if Feliciano remembered his last trip home then it was also accurate. There were so many trains riding the rails that only a few could make the longer trips a day, and Munich to Rome was certainly one of the longest. "But that doesn't leave for a few hours; bastards won't even let us check our bags yet." Meaning they'd have to lug them around wherever they went. And where was that exactly?

"Lovino?"

"It's still your birthday, isn't it?"

"I guess."

They blitzed through the crowds thanks to the fast pace Lovino set, the March sunlight hitting Feliciano's face as they left the train station in Munich and wound up on a busy metropolitan road. His brother kept marching him until they passed a red no-smoking sign, and it wasn't until they reached the street that Lovino stopped and turned on him, that forced smile gone and a familiar scowl settling over his dark features.

"Well?" Well what? "Use that German-speak of yours to find us a decent place to eat."

"O-Oh, that's what we're doing?" Feliciano felt like he was running a few steps behind still, neither of them had slept last night and the noise of the traffic was rattling him to his core.

"If you think I'm eating any more train food then you're fucking _wrong._" After all of that cooking they hadn't had any dinner last night. Feliciano had eaten a muffin with some coffee on the train this morning, and then a pre-packaged lunch of something salty… Food. Yes, food would be a really good idea, but they were still in Germany-

"I'm not giving you a cigarette until you find us something, Feliciano!" Again, his brother was not yelling, he was just speaking loudly.

"I'm not a dog!" And Feliciano could deal it back as good as he got; he wasn't a dog that needed a stash of bacon bits to keep going! Quickly finding a standing map and hurrying over to it, Feliciano felt more motivated more by hunger than nicotine.

"Speak, boy! Speak!" And Lovino followed him, dragging his suitcase behind. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and Feliciano tapped the restaurant district on the map, his brother dangling a second white paper roll tauntingly.

"You really are a dick!" He wanted that cigarette!

"Well I'm _hungry!_" And laughing.

They were both hungry, but they were laughing.

* * *

By four in the afternoon Feliciano still wasn't home and Gilbert wandered off to take a nap. Ludwig was just finishing cleaning up the kitchen when he picked up the phone again, and instead of dialling Feliciano's cell he found the number for the Museum instead. It was worth a shot…

He followed the Museum's automatic directory until it prompted him for an extension number, and Ludwig was finally patched through to the department where his partner worked. He'd only visited the subterranean workspace a few times, but Ludwig knew that wherever the phone was in the studio, it blinked rather than rung in order to get attention. It was a strange, abstract world down there, full of carefully focused lights, rubber gloves, and several artists who were probably much better off restoring someone else's work than creating any of their own.

"_OhmygodToris!" _A breathless, panting voice answered the phone and Ludwig tried conjuring up the faces of Feliciano's co-workers. He'd seen them all at the last exhibition, so-_ "I know! I know already! If you're calling to tell me to be careful with the Monet again then I swear I-"_

"Is this Feliks..?" Feliks something, Polish, he couldn't remember his surname and-

"_What? Oh, you're not Toris- what do you want?" _Yes, this was Feliks.

"I'm calling for Feliciano Vargas, is he in?"

"_It's his birthday?"_ The Pole sounded confused, so maybe Feli hadn't told his co-workers anything. That was good, right? _"Wait, is this Beilschmidt?"_

"Yes?" Or maybe he'd gone and had left a message?

"_Then fuck you."_

The call ended with a huff and a click and a very worried German.

* * *

"This is a Turkish restaurant."

"You don't want German food."

"But it's _Turkish_-"

"Lovino, I am not taking you to a German restaurant; you hate potatoes, and I hate schnitzel, and I haven't seen anything except those two things on any menu we've passed." Actually that was a lie, but they'd burned through the first of their three precious hours before the train was due to leave, and in the Restaurant District Feliciano did not want to meticulously scan every menu until he found a place that served _good_ German food.

"There was an Italian place right back-"

"_Brother…_" No, he could use that voice. Lovino didn't like it but even with three years between them, Feliciano was allowed to use that voice. "I'd rather take you someplace German than anywhere pretending to be Italian." They quickly entered the restaurant and were seated without having to wait, the rich interior muffling the sounds of patrons' voices. Dark walls, art in studded frames, thick carpets and velvet seating, it was comforting and quiet.

"How have you survived seven years in this country if you hate the food?" Feliciano sensed approval in his brother's voice as Lovino flipped the menu back and forth quickly, finding the English side and struggling through that instead of the German.

"I cook a lot," Feliciano answered, "and when we eat out it's usually something ethnic like this." The younger brother was comfortable with the second language, and with a quick check on their time he smoothly ordered for both of them once Lovino voiced his preference. Instead of wine they were served a kind of apple cider neither one had tasted before, Feliciano testing his curiously before deciding he liked the sweet taste.

"Happy twenty-fifth birthday, little brother." When Lovino made the small toast Feliciano felt his drink suddenly get very heavy in his hand, but they tapped glasses and drank a second time. The sweet was gone and he was left with only the tartness of the apples on his tongue. "Alright, now for business."

"Business?" Feliciano repeated, feeling like parts of him had been replaced with wooden blocks. He was twenty-five and look what two days had done to him.

"You said you want to go home, so did you mean it or am I trading your ticket in for one back to Berlin?" Lovino was blunt and to the point about everything, weaving his fingers together in front of him while the low orange light made him look even darker than normal, the gold band around his left ring finger shimmering in the glow. "Tell me what's going on."

"I don't know."

"Bullshit." He flinched softly at the accusation, worrying the corner of his napkin between his fingertips. "You're impulsive, Feliciano, and you always have been, but not even you will pick up and run across the continent on a whim. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me. Did he hit you?"

"No."

"Did he threaten you?"

"No."

"Did he disrespect you?"

"All the time." Feliciano stopped with a breath, staring down at the cloth he was twisting and twisting in his lap. Bringing one hand up he rubbed his top lip nervously where the stress was making it itch. He could feel the words all bubbling up in his gut and just wanted their food to arrive so he could force the feelings back down with big bites of lamb and rice. Lovino was watching him without saying anything, but that just meant he could see how much was wrong with this picture.

"Talk to me." No. Well… God he was trying, but Feliciano didn't know the words to not make it sound so terrible. "Feliciano you could have taken a plane and landed in Rome by now, you took the trains and chased after me for a reason."

"He took my keys." He was staring at the edge of his glass when he choked out the words, the server arriving at just that moment and placing their food on the table with a smile and some courtesy Feliciano couldn't translate right now. Lovino took over smiling and used broken English to assure the girl that they were fine and would flag her if they needed anything. They fell back into heavy, muffled silence and Feliciano didn't know whether to eat, speak, or cry.

Lovino broke the silence, he talked about the keys.

"I know you gave yours to him after I-" It freed Feliciano's tongue.

"And I know you called me an _idiot_, and you were _right_, and I-"

"Calm down." Feliciano placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with both hands, struggling with his composure. He was thinking far more than he was speaking, and he wanted both to stop. "I saw you lend him the car keys when I was there. What else?" Car key, house key, work key, gym key, shed key, back-door key…

"He takes them whenever he thinks I can't drive, or shouldn't leave the house." Lovino had started eating and Feliciano picked up his fork to start attacking his food, but then he saw his brother stop chewing. He was staring but Feliciano didn't clarify what he meant. "I asked for them twice last night, before we got in the car and then when we got back to the house, and both times he ignored me."

"What do you mean, _'shouldn't leave the house'_?"

"This morning I was going to ask for them, but he kept speaking to me like such a _child_ I just- I forgot, and he took them again. He took my car _again_." Lovino wasn't blinking and Feliciano was too upset now to eat. His car, which meant Ludwig also had his god-damned- "My favourite shirt."

"What shirt?"

"The one I wear to Church, it's still in the trunk of my car." He didn't know what that meant until he actually said it, Feliciano had been doing it for two years and he only understood it when the words hit the air. "He… he doesn't like it when I go to Mass on Sundays, so I wear casual clothes out of the house and then change before I get there." He kept a pair of polished shoes, a nice jacket, his green tie, and his favourite white shirt all sealed and neat in the trunk of his car. Feliciano hid clothing in the back of the vehicle, and he laundered them by paying with cash so Ludwig wouldn't question him about it.

The fork was suddenly clumsy and awkward in his hand.

'_Oh my God…'_

"He stops you from going to Church." Lovino's voice was quiet, and it was not a question.

"He ridicules me; it's never worth it to argue…"

"Our uncle is a _priest._"

"He ridicules that too…" Sometimes it was gentle and ribbing, other times it was blunt and dismissive. It didn't matter how Ludwig approached the issue, it was always with judgement.

"Eat something and tell me about your money." Ah- money! Yes, this one, this was one Feliciano could answer, because his relationship with Ludwig was not like this, it wasn't all of these horrible, terrible sounding things.

"We have separate accounts, everything is different. He's never touched my cards or put a stop on anything, we pay for the household fifty-fifty." Feliciano finally tasted the lamb on his plate-

"What about his brother in the basement?" -but he almost choked on it when Lovino hit him with another question. "Does he pay anything?" Gilbert? Well, he… "And that bastard never touches your bank statements either, right? He's never gone through your mail?"

Feliciano stopped choking, and he just sat there with a half-chewed lump of seasoned meat in his mouth. He couldn't swallow it, he couldn't think past all the times he'd found statements and bills and envelopes with his name on them open and resting on his pillow. He'd never scolded Ludwig for it, he'd never seen the problem, but now he was hearing it all in his brother's voice.

"Drink." Lovino nudged his cider closer and Feliciano dutifully swallowed half of it. Silence returned to the table after that, and the way his brother kept sawing at his food with the knife told Feliciano how upset he was.

Upset with him, no doubt. How could he have been this stupid?

"I'm sorry…" He had no excuse, he knew _better…_

"For what?"

For being like her… not that he could say it, he couldn't bring her down to his level. At least she'd done her duty and followed the proper path. Feliciano found his eyes watering and just stared at his untouched plate, shame prickling his skin, burning him in places he hadn't known existed. Seven years from home and he'd forgotten _everything _that was important…

"You take the train tonight," Feliciano whispered, too brow-beaten and ashamed to lift his voice. "I… I'll get a hotel room or something and find a way back to Berlin tomorrow." Of all the dirty titles Feliciano had let himself pick up since he'd left Italy, he'd never thought _'victim'_ would be one of them. In a controlling relationship he wasn't even man enough to be the abuser…

"Do you want my advice?" He was amazed Lovino wasn't shouting at him. He was horrified that Lovino wasn't shouting at him. Was it not even worth getting mad about? "Stop crying you idiot, and answer me: do you want your older brother's advice or not?"

"I do."

"Then you fucking come home." Feliciano's gut reaction was to scream, because it was the same thing he'd been hearing for three years, except- "You come home and you fucking see Carlino and uncle Mario, and maybe I get you to see Grandpa, or maybe I don't, but fuck it. You come home and you stay in my house, and you work in the restaurant again."

"I have to be back at work by-"

"Then you go back to your painting thing after you spend a week at the restaurant. You think too much, or not enough, _stupid._ You need to work, and you need to eat again because you're too fucking skinny." He was not _skinny._ "Whatever! Don't take a vacation, no wandering around the countryside painting rocks and shit; work, sleep, eat, see the family and fucking get your head on straight again."

"Straight." Hah. Very funny, except Lovino didn't think so and the look he shot at him over his half-eaten plate was deadly.

"Or you go back looking like her." The look was deadly, and the words were poison… "It's your choice, Feliciano, but make it fast because our train leaves in ninety minutes." Feliciano checked his watch.

Ninety minutes exactly…

* * *

**I know it said seven years and three years at different places, but I couldn't work in the paragraph to explain why. I think I'll get it hashed out either in the next chapter or a couple after, but it's not a typo.**

**Also, again, this is the BREAK-UP FIC.**


	4. Cold Beds and Wedding Rings

**Iris, Princess of China.**

**Mehehe, I'm closing in on the end of my HetaOni fics, so hopefully I'll have more time for this story come September. Thanks for holding on, guys!**

**I also found out recently that the name I gave Seborga in this fic (Carlino) means "Pug" in Italian and is, thus, the silliest of the three, not the least silly. But I still like it and since there's that point about them having stupid names I'm not gonna change it. I DID go back and edit that part where Feli said it wasn't as dumb though, because that's wrong... It's like naming your daughter "Poodle".**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Cold Beds and Wedding Rings

"Tell me about your wife."

"Huh?"

They were on the train now, chugging southbound through the Alps with dark skies outside the cabin window. Lovino had paid for their dinner and bought Feliciano's ticket, but the younger brother covered the costs of upgrading them both to get a bed. They were fortunate that the mid-week train wasn't full…

"The ring makes it a little obvious." It was eleven hours from Munich to Rome, and from there it would be a long drive to reach home, but for now it was quiet with the two of them plus another pair of travellers sharing the same four-person compartment.

"Oh… Yeah."

Feliciano had taken the top bunk because Lovino didn't like the idea of using the ladder to get up that high, huddled under the covers now and dressed down in a tee-shirt and shorts pulled from his bag. Lovino was standing by the window trying to see if he could jimmy it open and have a smoke. Neither the question nor the window were working, so Feliciano tried again.

"How's Isabella?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Lovino's response surprised him, not because it was harshly put but because it was a blatant refusal.

"Why wouldn't it be…?" Rolling over to the edge of his platform, Feliciano hooked one arm over the mattress and peered down at his brother, curious and concerned. However, he thought through his next words carefully: "Unless she went back to Spain."

"Something like that." Unless she wasn't the woman his brother had married.

Isabella Fernandez Carriedo, a beautiful, vibrant woman from the south of Spain. She'd come to their town years ago and made quite a name for herself, a travelling artist with a camera and an almost sinful love of dancing and good food.

Feliciano knew seven years was a long time away from home, but four of those had been for study and even on his last visit, Isabella had been very close to the Vargas family. It had been a little strange to see a woman so much older than his brother take up so much of Lovino's attention, and to see him always blushing and stuttering and never knowing what to say, but it was something else to think of her as gone.

"So, do I know her?" Lovino was being difficult so Feliciano asked a third time, but there was no answer before the compartment door swung open. A cute caramel blonde and her stalwart companion entered with lightning-fast Dutch, the two of them carrying the scent of pipe-smoke and beer on their clothes.

What conversation followed wasn't worth recording, because between jumbled French, Italian, Dutch, German and English the four of them only agreed that the brother and sister pair were too excited to sleep, and the Italian brothers knew more than enough about their country to talk the night away. Feliciano could forgive his brother's evasiveness when Lovino sensed a sales opportunity and pitched it:

"_Just let me say this: if you're going into the mountains of Lazio province on your way to Rieti and you don't come to my restaurant, then you're missing the best of Central Italy."_

* * *

No. Ludwig was not going to do this.

He was not sleeping in a cold bed again. He couldn't stand it. He tried it and he woke up four times, giving up by the time 3 AM rolled around and there was just no point anymore. He sat down to go over plans and procedures for work instead, shuffling papers until 5 in the morning when he tried one last time to sleep.

He woke up sick with fear when he checked his phone and there was still nothing from Feliciano.

Should he call the police? The first twenty-four hours were crucial in these matters, and Ludwig had already burned through almost twenty of them just with sheer anxiety.

But no. No he wasn't going to do that either.

Ludwig sat on the edge of his cold bed and waited. He waited for the man he loved to come home.

* * *

"You look like shit."

"Couldn't sleep…"

"Why the hell not? You can sleep anywhere."

"Bed was cold…"

There were no showers on the train, and even if there were neither of them was willing to shell out the extra forty Euros to use one. Feliciano smeared jam on a piece of toast in the breakfast car and tried to pretend that just washing and shaving had woken him up enough to keep travelling. There was a _lot _of distance left for them to cover today…

"So, have you called the bastard yet?" Lovino was drinking the black coffee served at the small buffet, finished complaining about the taste of it and willing to just swallow the caffeine now. Still, Feliciano didn't expect the question, and with too much sweet sticking to the roof of his mouth he didn't have an answer. "Oi, Feliciano I'm talking to you."

"I know." He drank some of his own coffee and washed the bitter brew back and forth over his tongue before swallowing. They were only another hour from Rome…

"Have you called him or not?"

"My phone died," he lied, because he didn't want to think about it.

Lovino reached into his pocket, pulled out his cellphone and held it up so he could see the screen, then he placed it with a thunk on the table between them. Feliciano stared at the black device on the white table cloth, letting the circles of light from the clear glasses and cups catch his attention with the early light.

"Feliciano."

"Why should I?" He asked, hating the words because they didn't sound like him, and hating the raw little pain that caught him in the back of his throat.

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?" Lovino drilled.

"My boss."

"And is he going to keep your boyfriend from calling the cops?" … "Feliciano, how much worse do you think it's going to be if you show up back there and the police are snooping around in your business?" His personal life was not the government's business, but Feliciano hated how his brother was so right about this: Ludwig _would_ call the cops. He'd be sweet and kind about it too, he'd wonder why Feliciano wasn't home, or where he'd gone, or if he was hurt or had been taken advantage of by someone. He was probably sick with worry already, and Ludwig just didn't know that some things weren't for the authorities to meddle with.

Frustrated, the younger brother picked up the phone and let Lovino excuse himself so he wouldn't have to hear the conversation.

* * *

"…Feliciano?"

Ludwig couldn't believe it happened that way. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to forgive himself for it.

"_Ci… Ciao, Ludwig…"_

Because after an entire day of waiting, and worrying, and wishing…

"A _week!-? _Have you lost your mind?"

In less than five minutes they went from barely speaking to suddenly screaming.

"_A week in Italy, yes, it's not unheard of."_

"So this is your solution to everything? Just drop your life and run off to another country!"

"_For a week, yes, my decision is to go see my family for __**one week!**__"_

Ludwig's office was frighteningly small when he filled it with his voice. Between the desk and the thin walls of the portable building he could only pace three steps in any direction, and the ceiling almost grazed his head when he stood at his full height to shout and be heard. He completely forgot himself, and he just couldn't bring himself to care that the crew outside could _hear_ him.

"Without even telling me! You just storm out the door for no reason, not a single word! You wouldn't even _look at me:_ that's how much you don't care!"

"_Don't accuse __**me**__ of-!"_

"The truth? I think I'm entitled!"

"_Don't __**interrupt**__ me!"_

It took so, so much to make Feliciano angry enough to yell at someone. Ludwig never forgot that he was the one with the temper in their relationship, and as patience went he had an abundance of them. Feliciano did not shout at people, and Ludwig had never seen him lose it to the point where his lover lost the handle on his languages. He'd heard Feliciano lose his German when excited, or frightened, or exhausted, but never, ever, because he was-

"_**DON'T**__ tell me- __**DON'T **__try to- __**DON'T **__say that-" _Ludwig's Italian couldn't keep up, he just couldn't process the language fast enough to understand. He heard the same grammatical point hammer into his skull again and again and again, but he couldn't find the knowledge to translate the rest of it. And he didn't have to. Even without the vocabulary or the grammar, Ludwig understood everything else.

He understood that he wasn't going to see or hear from his lover again for a week. It would be seven days give-or-take several hours for travel, and if Ludwig crossed that line and tried contacting him before then, then Feliciano would not forgive him.

He understood that even if Feliciano did come back, because he said he would but that didn't mean he was going to, that things weren't going to be magically better between them.

And he understood that somehow, somewhere along four years of love and companionship, something had changed between them.

And that understanding broke his heart…

* * *

"Feeling better?"

"Please don't joke about this…"

Feliciano splashed his face again with cold water, determined to use up all the water on the train if that was what it took to cool his cheeks and control the burning in his eyes. It was like him to cry when he was upset, and Lovino was the same way so he couldn't judge him for it.

But it wasn't like him to scream and shout at someone over the phone, and Feliciano couldn't even mentally backtrack through the conversation to figure out when he'd snapped or what had set him off. He couldn't find it, and he didn't know when Ludwig had turned on him either, not that that excused his reaction, but he couldn't process what had happened.

He didn't understand.

He splashed his face again, holding his hand over his eyes while his brother leaned on the bathroom door, keeping the small space closed off. He'd given the phone back already, he didn't want to touch it again. Over their heads an intercom message began to relay itself through the train, carefully pronounced German, Italian and English informing passengers that they were entering Rome and would be disembarking in another fifteen minutes.

"We were _happy_…" He whispered. They'd been happy together and now they were like this, and it was killing him. Feliciano could barely think past how much it hurt, all this pain flooding his lungs like hot water, suffocating him and burning him, filling him with heat and pain until he thought he was going to burst.

"I believe you." And Lovino was still being so _patient_ with him…

"Why should you?" the question hurt. Everything was unfair and it _hurt so much…_ "All you saw was tension and screaming before he kicked you out. And all I've done is tell bad stories…" He ran the tap again and went back to splashing and rubbing his burning face, trying so hard to just wash the shame away. Why wasn't it working?

"Just trust me, I believe you." But Feliciano couldn't understand _how…_ "You wouldn't have left us if you weren't happy. It's not in you."

Why didn't that make him feel better…?

* * *

"You're not gonna like it…" Three hours later, Feliciano was so desperate for a shower that not even the warm breeze hitting him in the face was enough to take his mind off it. Rome had come and gone in a blur of loud noises and racing pedestrians, and although it wasn't too hot yet in his homeland, he was dying under the sun. "When we get there."

"What do you mean?" Lovino'd been really good about not being a dick for the last day and a half, so Feliciano picked his head up off the back of the headrest and looked at where his brother was driving. They were in a convertible rented on Feliciano's credit card, because he'd be the one who'd have to take the vehicle back in a week: Lovino had originally gone down to Rome with their uncle who'd been on business, and had since returned home.

The sunlight and blue skies were like a welcome home, especially with the smog of the city slowly fading as they wound their way up into the mountains. It was a long, long drive to their village but they couldn't have picked better weather, and with sprawling farmland and scenic valleys spread all around them, it was paradise.

"I mean this." Lovino was wearing his dick-ish smile, the one he used right before you realized he was going to dump a handful of worms down your shirt, or kick you off the dock into the cold river water. But he lifted his left hand where it was draped out the drivers' side window, the top down behind them and the glass wound down on both sides. Feliciano saw his brother's dark fingers and watched his thumb tap the gold band around his ring finger, and he felt a childish groan work its way up his throat.

"Who is she?" He asked, or more like he whined, really. It was so strange, he'd been curious last night and his brother had wanted to talk about anything else, but now their positions were reversed. Maybe he was looking forward to seeing his wife again, he wanted to gloat? They were on the road now, still a good ways away, but the mountains were rising and his brother was ignoring the speed limit completely. Home was coming up too fast…

And now Lovino was grinning.

"Oh come on! Stop being a dick!"

"You're going to hate it."

"I hate it already! Who is she?"

"You know her." Very funny! He knew almost all the pretty girls in town! Or at least he had! So that meant that the only reason Lovino had for sounding so secretive was- "And relax, it's not _her._" Oh… Well, that was good then. It made things a lot easier.

"Why couldn't you have just said that last night?" it would have saved Feliciano a lot of trouble. Now he could just settle back in his seat and-

"It's her sister." W… wait what?

No, he-

"_AAAAHH!_"

* * *

**Stupid place to stop, but here I stop.**


	5. Sodom and Gomorrah

**Princess of China, Exec Flip, Love the Way You Lie, I Will Carry You.**

**I'm working through this story at a snail's pace, but I AM working on it. This chapter doesn't cover as much as I wanted to but IT'S BEEN TWO MONTHS I AM FED UP WITH YOUR FACE.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Sodom and Gomorrah

"Please turn the car around."

"No."

"_Please_ turn the car around!"

After an hour of driving Lovino had to be getting sick of his whining! There was no way he would keep driving if Feliciano kept whining and crying to him! He'd have to stop and even if he didn't turn around and drive back to Rome, and then at least Feliciano would be able to jump out and try running back to the Italian capital! Anything had to be better than this!

"Calm the fuck down!"

"You married my ex-fiance's sister: _I am allowed to panic!" _Oh God, holy father in heaven please save and protect him. This had been a terrible idea, an awful idea, possibly even the worst decision of his life. "Lovino take me back! We'll spend a week in Rome instead or I'll just-"

"You're not going back to that fuckhead until we do what we fucking planned, now shut up!"

"Are you trying to make your wife a murderer?" Feliciano whimpered, and he wasn't ashamed of the sound either, not now that he knew what was waiting for him as Lovino turned off the highway and they began to move north through the mountains instead of cutting east. Oh God, oh God he'd be staying under Chiara Valenti's roof. He was going to be eating at her table. He would be dead by tomorrow morning: rat poison.

"You're over-reacting, damn it." No. He. Was. Not. "Let me handle Chichi, you just worry about Mama Valenti."

"She lives with you..?" No, no no no…

"Signore Valenti passed away last year, so I live with them." The Valenti family only had two daughters, no sons to inherit the winery and land. It would make more sense for the older girl to bring her husband to live with her sister and mo-

"_ARE YOU CRAZY?" _Forget stopping, maybe if he threw himself over the car door he'd hit his head and die on the hot gravel. The asphalt was slowly giving way to country road, the car complaining loudly before Lovino shifted it into the proper gear.

"Feliciano you were engaged, stuff happened, and now Chiara and I are married instead so it works out the same way." No it didn't, none of this was the same as how their mother had planned it. Lovino had already inherited Grandpa's restaurant and Feliciano had been destined to marry Alice Valenti and inherit their father's growing winery. The plan had been to increase the wealth of their family through all three sons, not just one, and create a stronger unit. But instead of taking business in school like everyone had planned, Feliciano had fallen in love with art history. And instead of coming home and marrying the girl he had always known would be his wife, Feliciano had fallen in love with a man…

"Is she married?" Please please please-

"No." Any second now, Feliciano was going to start crying.

"Why not?" He covered his face with his hands and slumped down in his seat, suddenly terrified of the winding road with its warped metal guard-rail. Even the wild olive trees reaching out of the dry cliffs above them were threatening. He could hear the distant roar of the cascades as the river that ran by the town came into view below them. He didn't want to look out and see the sun-drenched fields of wine grapes and local produce, he was terrified of seeing the red-tile roofs of the beautiful little town he'd grown up in and dreamed of seeing again for years.

Lovino didn't answer his question, or if he did then it was only with a shrug and Feliciano peeked out from behind his hands to check.

"Lovino?"

"It's complicated." Which was an evasive code for:

"What did Grandpa say?" Because… as head of the family he must have said something… Feliciano didn't have the power to formally break off an engagement, at least he hadn't before he'd left. Lovino and Chiara's marriage was probably- "Lovino, I have to know."

"I know you do."

"Then tell me."

Lovino wasn't looking at him. He was staring at a road they both knew like the back of their hand, focusing on it like they were still back in Berlin trying to figure out which way would take them to the super-market or museum. He rubbed his upper lip, a sign that he was uncomfortable, and Feliciano wished the car would just slow down so they could talk about this, because it was probably something that should have been discussed last night on the train.

It couldn't be that bad though.

Lovino'd invited him to come home.

It couldn't be that bad if his brother was willing to do that…

"He said there was a girl up in Berlin." Oh no… "She was pregnant and didn't want to get married, but Grandpa told you you'd shamed our mother and the Valenti family anyways." Mama… no, he'd never wanted that… "So you left, and you aren't talked about."

"So I'm an adulterer…?" He hadn't been married when he'd left, but Feliciano had bought the ring himself and proposed before he'd left for college. He'd done it because Alice was a kind, beautiful girl, and they'd always been friends, and they'd always known they'd get married. And then they hadn't. "Is Gomorrah that much better than Sodom?"

"…It's a sin either way." Lovino only said the words loudly enough for him to hear them over the wind, it was a cold whisper that cut him under the warm sun. "But you can say you're married now, it's up to you." It was up to him how much of a lie he wanted to tell. It wasn't as if he had a ring to prove it though, or a spouse back in Berlin waiting for him. There was no marrying another man, it didn't matter how much Feliciano always told himself he loved Ludwig: two men could not get married.

"Thanks…" Whether he took the truth or the lie, it was still three years of sin. "So, I guess it's Gomorrah for me then..."

* * *

Seven years ago, the transition from Home to Berlin had been a huge shock to Feliciano's system. Berlin was Berlin and Home was a town of less than five thousand people, so really it was more like a village. They were an island of red roofs and narrow roads floating in a sea of green fields, the rolling hills crested with shady trees and ancient stone walls. Fruit groves dominated the landscape, the terrain too mountainous and tall for rolling fields of cereal.

Feliciano wasn't even sure what the name of the village actually was, it was so small. He'd always just told Ludwig and his friends that he lived outside Rieti, because it was easier than trying to work out where exactly they were. Home was Home, and even all the bitterness and unhappy feelings couldn't stop Feliciano from sitting up high in his seat when they mounted the last hill in their car, because there it was.

And more importantly,

"Hey, you recognize him?"

"Is that-?"

More importantly, there was someone Feliciano hadn't seen in a long, long time. He was walking slowly between the fields towards the main road, his shoulders slumped under the white outline of his teeshirt, feet scuffing the gravel path. He had his head down, hands in his blue jean pockets, his strawberry-blonde hair glowing in the sun as the convertible sped down the hill. Feliciano stood up in his seat and gave a loud, sharp whistle with two fingers in his mouth, and Lovino tapped the horn twice as the engine roared and then calmed down dramatically. They rode the brakes down the hill and kicked up a cloud of yellow dust as they went.

"_Carlino!_"

The person who looked painfully like Feliciano's little brother looked up, and before Lovino actually dragged the machine to a stop Feliciano was up and vaulted the side of the still-moving convertible. His shoes hit the gravel with a loud crunch, and the stunned youth took two, three seconds to come up with a response before the exhausted traveller was on him.

"Feliciano!" Oh, good, it was actually the right person. That would have been embarrassing!

The backpack hit the gravel path and Feliciano locked his arms around his little brother, laughing through the tired, gross feeling of travelling for two days and all the exhausting conflict ripping him apart. He just squeezed his brother as tight as he could, feeling Carlino return the favour with both arms locked around his chest, a breathless laugh and a full grin pressed against his neck.

"You're so tall!" He couldn't believe it was him! "What happened?"

"I grew up?" There were three years between Lovino and Feliciano, but even more between Feliciano and Carlino. He'd been six when his little brother was born, so Carlino had only been twelve when Feliciano left for school…

His baby brother was _nineteen years old…_

"I don't understand, you used to be such a cute little kid!" Letting the words trip and tumble off his tongue, Feliciano let go and just stood there for a moment to look at him. Mama's green eyes were sparkling under a sun-bleached mop of Feliciano's copper hair, sun-spots kissed his brother's long Roman nose and his grin was gawky over straight white teeth. But it was him, it was Carlino.

Feliciano hugged him again, and he knew that this moment justified everything.

* * *

They were only in the car for another two minutes before Carlino openly accused Lovino of lying to him and everyone else.

"You said you were going to Berlin to visit him!"

"And I did."

"But now he's here!"

"I'm _right_ here, actually." There would be enough people talking about him like he wasn't in the room, Feliciano pushed his way into the conversation to keep his brothers from talking around him. "We didn't plan it, if that's what you mean. It just kind of happened." Kind of. Feliciano had tossed Carlino's bag into the front seat next to Lovino, so the two of them were in the back now with the youngest brother practically bouncing in his seat.

"Wait, so does grandpa even-?"

"You let me talk to grandpa." Lovino cut in, and Feliciano noticed his brother pulling them off the main road and down a country lane between the fields and hills. The streets in town were narrow and winding, so he told himself that was why they didn't try driving through it properly. Besides, they both needed to clean and rest up right now, not make rounds to the neighbours. "And hey, if he tries running away, Carlino I want you to tackle him."

"What?"

"You assume he could catch me…" Feliciano grumbled, an old stone bridge coming into view as the road opened up again and the fruit-trees and their shade gave way to low grape vines and rose bushes. They could hear the river bubbling by over the sound of the engine, the ancient landmark welcoming them to the Valenti family's extended property. A few more acres and they'd be at the winery…

"Hey," hm? "Hey, Feliciano. Do you have more luggage?" Oh…

Feliciano made himself smile at his little brother, refusing to look sad after being back for less than an hour.

"I didn't bring a gift if that's what you mean. Sorry." That wasn't what Carlino meant, and Feliciano just wanted to repeat the apology. His little brother was giving him a worried look when Lovino took the issue out of his hands,

"He's only here for a week." The disappointment on Carlino's face was crushing… "He's gonna be working with you at the restaurant, so give him hell if he's slow."

"Wait, really?" Feliciano'd almost forgotten about that, actually. It perked his sibling up right away and the middle brother just relaxed a bit in his seat, one arm draped over the open window to catch the breeze speeding by them. "You're gonna come work in the kitchen again? Or out in front? You still speak English right?"

"He's fluent in potato now too."

"I'm right here!" Feliciano kicked the back of his older brother's seat and grinned at the glare that came around at him, then answered the younger one's question. "My English is a bit rusty, but my German is very good and I have some French now too."

"Show off." Lovino accused, and this time Feliciano stuck his tongue out at the rear-view mirror. What? He'd always been the best with languages.

"So you'll work the front of house, I guess." The last time Feliciano had been home, Carlino hadn't thought twice about working full time in the restaurant, now he was almost talking like he owned the place. He was still disappointed though, lowering his eyes to the side of the road whipping by them, lost in the grape vines and dappled shade. "It's more fun in the kitchen, but we keep getting lots of tourists from other countries." Really?

"We're actually on a couple of the local wine-tasting routes now." That was incredible! So the Valenti winery…? "We've started serving their label in the restaurant, so it's building a better reputation for itself."

This made him happy. It wasn't a show of good-cheer or a thing that made him think he ought to smile: hearing about their success made him genuinely happy. He was grinning and watched his brothers talk business to each other and painted a picture of the restaurant's successes and faults since he'd left. But then he thought of something, and just before they arrived Feliciano put one more desperate question to Lovino:

"Hang on, does she know?" And before either of them could ask what he meant, he thought of an even better one: "Does _he_ know?" Grandpa had come up with a story, but was that for outside the family or inside of it too? Sodom and Gomorrah, Feliciano tried not to think about why it took him so long to wonder which story his brother had been given. Lovino slowed the car when they were still well away from the turn, and he sort of stammered trying to get the words out, fumbling with the gear box as an excuse.

"Grandpa told them. Grandpa told everyone." So, that meant it was just Lovino, Grandpa, Grandma, and their uncles… He should have kept asking questions on the road because Carlino was giving them both a curious and confused look now. Feliciano should have asked _all_ possible questions while they were still on the highway.

His little brother didn't say anything, but he felt his gaze resting on Feliciano's left hand as Lovino made the last turn and the house came into view through the sunlight.

No wedding ring…

* * *

**I AM SO DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER I SWEAR T O FOGD CO AD IDONT" WATN TO SE EI T EVER AGAIN.**

**I don't know when I'm going to make any significant progress on chapter 6, but I finally got this gosh-darned chapter done after so many months of fighting, so here you go.**

**I'm going to go lay down…**


	6. Warm Kisses and Cold Water

**Lost in Paradise, L' L' Emigrante, Not Enough, Whole Playlist, I Don't Believe You.**

**I had a spoiler up here about Lovino and I don't know why I did that. Silly me.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Warm Kisses and Cold Water

There were only two people Feliciano had kissed in his life. As in, two people he had really kissed. Friends didn't count: those were kisses on cheeks and arms around shoulders, not the same thing. And family didn't count either, those were bumps on the nose and pinched cheeks with laughter.

There were only two people Feliciano had actually approached and kissed. One of them was Ludwig, the man whose love had cost him his family. The other was Alice Valenti, the woman he'd been told from childhood would one day be his wife.

Tonight was the first time in over twenty years that Feliciano wondered if Alice had ever even wanted him to begin with. What struck him was the reaction at her front door, because when Lovino pulled them in through the centuries old gate in the stone wall surrounding the converted villa and farm house, Feliciano thought he saw two people standing under the trellis shading the small garden around the side of the main house. When he looked again there was only one very tense brunette: his sister-in-law.

So at least he knew Lovino had called ahead to warn the household about his arrival. He couldn't say whether that made the biting tension in his gut that much stronger or a bit easier to bear though, because by the time his brother turned off the car engine, Carlino was already chuckling under his breath about the woman storming towards them.

If you wanted to describe Chiara Vante- well, Chiara Vargas now, then you had to make a very fast distinction: did you want to describe her looks, or herself? If you were thinking of the flesh and blood woman then the first word was always tiny, followed by beautiful, or gorgeous, or even ravishing: even he could see that clear as day. She was the sort of small woman who looked like someone had taken the usual mold and scaled it down to create her, narrow shoulders and slender arms, her sun-kissed skin was a bit lighter than Lovino's dark complexion, but not by much. She had long, dark, tousled Arabian hair that was as untamed under the Italian sun now as it had ever been when they were children, one pink ribbon behind her ears and over her head struggling to contain the wild beauty.

But if you wanted to describe the mind hiding behind honey brown eyes and rosebud lips, Feliciano's gut almost always screamed "scary". The flattering words were passionate, protective, and vibrant. She was not a woman to sit quietly on her hands and pout her lips for attention, but walk straight up to you and say exactly what was on her mind. It was charming when she was calm and terrifying when she was angry, and Feliciano felt the very strong need to hide behind his little brother as the three of them climbed out of the car.

"You!" Maybe her voice would be good for singing, but usually she was yelling. "You're late, and you said you would call again when you were close!" So thank God she turned on Lovino instead, storming up to him with her little hands pumping back and forth inside a white cotton blouse that left her shoulders and arms bare. She was wearing khaki pants that came half-way down her calves, simple sandals over her feet as she stomped over the gravel path and kicked up dust in her wake. If he judged her right then Feliciano wasn't even sure Chiara had seen him, she had one hand up and pointing accusingly at his brother as she let loose on him. "You said you'd be gone all week and now you're back on a Wednesday? Did you get sick, or does his German wife just not know how to cook for you?"

"Hello to you too, Chichi." It was common knowledge that Lovino was an asshole with a bad temper, Feliciano loved his brother but he couldn't try to deny such a simple fact. So watching him just smile at the harping comments and drag his wife into his arms for a kiss, one hand sliding around her tiny waist and the other tilting her delicate head back- well, it wasn't what he usually thought of first. Feliciano was surprised, and Carlino made a hacking noise next to him.

"What are you, thirteen?" Nudging his little brother to get the teen to roll his tongue back up in his mouth, Carlino's grinning presence was what distracted Feliciano from the biting fear chomping away at his insides again. What was he supposed to say? What should he do? Kiss her hand? Shake it? Go for a hu- oh God no, not a hug, anything but that unless she made the first move. And what about her sister? Her_ mother?_ And what about-?

"Carlino?"

"What?" Oh, there were so many stupid things he should have asked on the highway. Leaning in close to whisper the horrible question in his brother's ear, Feliciano couldn't help himself from flinching a little.

"When were they married?" It had to have been recently, right? Lovino hadn't been wearing the wedding ring the last time they'd met back in October. Feliciano just had to ignore the fact that he hadn't been told, he had to let it run like cold water down his back and forget about it. If only the confused look Carlino put on hadn't slowly melded into something that looked hurt…

"…Just before Christmas." So… two months after Lovino's visit? That soon, it- "You said you couldn't come." But he- oh…

"Right…" Right. It wasn't worth it to ask if he'd sent a pretend wedding gift or not. He remembered Lovino looking through some of the gallery's paintings and taking a more affordable one home with him despite knowing nothing about art, so that was probably the reason why.

He wasn't allowed to be upset by this, not right now anyways. He'd known what coming home would mean and, well, there would be a lot more of this to come. He put on his smile and hummed a little nonsense sound, trying to distract his little brother's disappointment before he heard his sister-in-law address him.

"You look well, Feliciano." Chiara's voice was civil, which was exactly what he should have expected and he felt awful for imagining anything less. He'd wronged her family, but it would have been below her to treat him horribly for it three years after the fact.

"It's good to see you again, Chiara. I'm sorry about the short notice." What did surprise him that when he looked back in the couple's direction, Lovino was hardly touching his wife. There was one hand he assumed was up on the middle of her back, the other one sitting in his pocket now while he watched the exchange closely. Chiara had her arms folded under her chest, brown eyes scanning Feliciano up and down sharply before she huffed a little, as if dismissing him. She looked over at Carlino instead, daring to crack a smile that eased some of the tension in Feliciano's gut, but didn't negate the sense that he was being overlooked.

"How'd you get here? Did these two abduct you?" But at least she was friendly to his brother.

"Pretty much, yeah!" What? Liar. "I was out on a walk when they came roaring down the hill past me!"

"Would you rather we'd kept going?" Lovino chided, but then looked to his wife, "Chichi, we uh-" Suddenly Lovino was mincing words as he scratched his upper lip again the way he always did when he didn't know how to say something. The narrow look Chiara gave him told Feliciano she'd learned to read his brother very, very quickly. "We've been on the road for two days, do you think…?"

Chiara knew what he was asking about, taking a full breath in and clapping her hands together slowly, lips pulled back trying to smile without success. Was she stalling for time? It was horrible to think about, but her sister and mother couldn't have missed their arrival and yet neither one had appeared. It was tense, and awkward, and even Carlino was feeling it where the youngest brother was fidgeting next to him in the sun.

"Yes, the ah- the guest room on the main level, Feliciano, you know which one I mean?" He had to think hard for a moment, trying to remember the layout of a house he hadn't been inside for such a long time. Did she mean… the sunroom? "Yeah, that one. The bed is made so you can just put your things in there."

He hadn't known there was a bed in the glass parlor next to the kitchen, the last time he'd been here there had only been a fold-out cou- _oh._

"Is there something wrong with the spare bed ups-?" Aaah- shut up, Carlino!

"That's wonderful, thank you!" Clapping an arm around his brother's shoulders to shut the younger one up, Feliciano made sure his smile was working properly as he laughed a little and nodded. "It should be nice and bright in there, I love the sun!" It might mean a 4am wake-up call for the rest of the week, but he could handle that. "We don't get enough of it in Germany so it'll be a treat." If they wanted him sleeping in the complete opposite end of the house from the rest of the bedrooms then okay, he could handle that. It didn't matter what Lovino's face looked like, it was just more cold water down his back, more ice, ice cold water…

"Here, I'll take your bag then." Lovino reached for and took the duffle-bag from the front passenger seat, and Feliciano let their little brother go where Carlino had fallen quiet and was just watching them with poorly hidden confusion. Chiara had her lips pursed tightly, pinching them between her teeth as she shuffled her feet on the cracked gravel covering the ground. It was hard to think of anything to say as Lovino turned away and walked off. His brother probably expected to be followed but instead Feliciano tried catching his sister-in-law's attention:

"Chiara." She'd just started turning away and he could feel his little brother watching him, but when she turned back around Feliciano mustered what few nerves he naturally possessed and took a few steps closer to her. He could see where her fingernails were digging into her arms, pinching the white cotton as she stared straight at his chest for a moment, then looked up. "I…" Speak, speak c'mon, it wasn't going to get any easier from here on in, so he had to at least make the effort from the start. "I'm sorry I missed your wedding. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I mean it: you don't know how much I regret not being there." Of course, if he'd been _told _about it then maybe…

She was still looking at him, scrutinizing him, really. Growing up he'd been better friends with Alice, but he'd never not gotten along with the older sister. It was hard to stand there as she pursed her lips again and shifted her weight, the sun beaming down over their heads as she took a breath and then held it. Chiara shook her head a little before coming up with something to say through another half-formed and incredibly forced smile.

"Lovino's the one who wanted you there." But Lovino was the one who _hadn't_- "I never asked for an adulterer at my wedding." Ah, _but he_… "Thank you for the painting, Feliciano, but you can find your own way to the bathroom to wash up? I'm going to go start our dinner." Cold water, cold, numbing, fast-moving water that had to just run down and off his back until he couldn't feel it anymore. "Carlino, you're staying for dinner: make sure you call your Nonna and tell her, okay?"

"Uh- yes, Chichi."

With a quick smile that hurt him more than it should have, Feliciano watched his sister-in-law swing her hips as she marched away from him and back under the shade of the front door, passing into the house and leaving the two of them standing out in the sunlight. Despite what he'd already said about being happy to sleep in the sun room, Feliciano found himself drowning in the gold light, placing one hand up over his hot hair. He tried telling himself that maybe he needed to buy a hat, but it didn't change the fact that he'd be better off with a train ticket back to Berlin…

"That… didn't go well." Carlino murmured softly behind him, and it was very, very hard to shake his head and try to escape the glare blinding him on all sides.

"It could have gone worse." He admitted. "I always imagined it being much worse, actually."

"Well, maybe- I mean…" What was wrong? Feliciano turned around and his brother looked very confused for a moment, staring at the ground between them with one hand resting on the older one's arm. "What if I asked grandpa about-?"

"Oh- that…" Cutting Carlino off before he could say the rest of it, he made himself smile for the younger man as he shook his head quickly. "That's a bad idea, I mean I know why you suggested it but- no…" No, there was no way he'd be allowed to stay there, even for a few days. A cold reception here had been expected, but nothing would protect him if he showed up outside the Vargas family home and asked to spend the night- nevermind pass an entire week under their roof.

"Well why not? Nonna's birthday is this week: that's why you came, isn't it?" He hadn't said that… "She still cries sometimes, Feliciano. I know grandpa ignores it, or says it's because of Mama, but-"

"Carlino please…" Eeh, this wasn't something he wanted to talk about, not yet anyways. Not today when he was still so tired from those awful trains, and unwashed from two days of travel. "Thank you, but please don't mention this to grandpa yet, let Lovino handle it, okay? Things are… probably going to get worse for me before they get better. You understand, don't you?" He shouldn't have said the words, but out they came and nothing could take them back. He could see it right on Carlino's face and knew his brother must have thought all of this was just being blown further and further out of proportion.

"No, I don't understand." An engagement gone sour and now he was the scourge of the town? Feliciano couldn't blame him but he couldn't very well tell him either, not right now. He would speak to Lovino first and talk to whoever in the family was willing to meet with him, then he'd decide things like that. "I don't understand any of this, Feliciano, I really don't."

"I'm sorry…" But in the meantime, he could mean it when his brother gave him such an upset, stubborn look. "I know you're not a child anymore, but it's hard to explain everything." No it wasn't, it was horribly simple actually, but what if it upset him the way it had everyone else? "I'll give my right hand not to repeat what happened three years ago, Carlino, so just trust me, okay?"

"Why was it that bad?" Broken engagements did not warrant burnt baby pictures and screaming into the night… "I'm not even allowed to write or ask about you, only Lovino-"

"I'm sorry." Opening his arms a little bit, cold fear splashed him when he realized his brother might not go for it, but he walked into the hug and Feliciano had to calm the quaking nerves inside himself. What would he do if by the end of this trip his brother wouldn't come near him anymore? Lovino still hugged him but- oh God, that had taken _time_… "Trust me, little brother, please, please trust me…"

"I do?" And his little brother squeezed him a little tighter, either sensing again that more was wrong than he could describe, or just confused by the way Feliciano wouldn't let go…

"Then don't stop…" Don't stop trusting him, don't stop looking at him like a brother above all. Please don't ever look at him and see a _monster._

"Okay, but-" But..? Was he laughing? "But you really need a shower, Feliciano, _please?_" Oh.

"You're awful." But he got him to smile, so maybe that was worth something. He clapped his brother on the back and watched Carlino stretch his lips and stick his tongue out, his nose wrinkled up in a look of exaggerated disgust.

"And you smell worse! No more hugs until you do what Chichi said, got it?" Fine, fine. Now why did his brother think it was okay to suddenly grin and thumb his nose like that? "Starting tomorrow you work for me, remember? Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're my big brother!"

"Ve~! Who do you think taught you how to take an order?" He'd twist his brother's ear off if he wasn't careful, but the sun just kept coming down stronger and stronger on them. As silly as Carlino was being it couldn't compete with the heat.

"They're really putting you in the sunroom?" Mm, maybe Chiara wanted him to suffocate before dinner. "Oh, hey, I forgot to ask." Hmm?

Feliciano had just started walking towards the house when Carlino called him back again, his hands in the pockets of the light spring jacket he was still wearing just to keep the sun off his skin. He kind of had to squint through the sun to see his bright-eyed brother watching him, but Carlino was scuffing his feet over the gravel and looking at the ground again.

"Do you, um… Are you going to go see Mama?" Feliciano took a long, slow breath and looked down at his own feet for a moment, turning a piece of white gravel over with the toe of his shoe before coming up with an answer.

"If not this evening, then tomorrow morning, yes." Feliciano owed her that much.

"Can I come with you?" He held his breath again, watching Carlino look at him and then immediately drop his head again, watching their shadows.

"Not the first time, no." It was hard for him to say that, but he had to. He wouldn't let his brother see him like that, least of all in front of her. "But after that, of course. We'll go as many times as you want."

"I'm sorry." …

"It wasn't your fault, Carlino." Happy and heavy, warm and so, so cold… this conversation was awful for both of them. He held one hand out to his younger brother, watching the way he kept his head down, shoulders slumped and hands behind him like a guilty child. "C'mon, let's go inside." And get out of this awful heat…

There was comfort and concern in the way Carlino took his hand, squeezing his fingers hard for a moment before letting himself be tugged inside. Feliciano looked up only once before they finally passed from the brilliance in to the almost dark interior of the house, but what he saw looked more like an illusion.

There was no reason to think he saw another set of caramel brown eyes watching them from the upstairs window.

There was even less reason to wonder why she pulled the curtain shut between them.

* * *

**Did not accomplish as much as I was hoping to, but at least I got a chapter done and I know precisely where the next one will go. I think my problem is that I made the average length quite short, and because of how slowly it's going I would rather post many small chapters than only a few very long ones.**


	7. Sunrooms and Rumpled Money

**Secret Door, How Could an Angel Break My Heart?**

**Oh wow, Toni Braxton + this story = wow wow wow…**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Sunrooms and Rumpled Money

The hot sun hit his face at too-early-in-the-morning, which wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been so badly confused about why he was on the wrong side of the bed. Ludwig slept facing the window and Feliciano faced the en-suit's door: there was no reason for the sun to touch him. And the bed smelt wrong, that was the next thing he noticed. And why did his cotton sheets feel pilled and rough? Where was- oh…

Feliciano had to lay there for a few minutes just to orient himself properly, confused for the several long moments it took to recognize the corrugated steel roof over his head and the glass panes surrounding him. He was not in his bed in Berlin, he wasn't in Germany anymore, he was in a completely different country. He wasn't even in a house for goodness' sake, and as he pulled his bare arms up over his head Feliciano was uncomfortable enough just thinking about his arrangements that he didn't want to remember last night.

The sunroom was a secure and safe place to sleep, he'd helped build it so he'd have taken offense if it collapsed on him or something, but it wasn't actually _in the house_. When they had all been children this had been a garden patio. The floor under the furniture was still grey terra-cotta brickwork over a foundation of sand and gravel, and the first two feet of wall were red brick and grey yard rocks mortared and mason'd together by someone's great-grandpa. When they had been teens Feliciano's mother had volunteered her two older sons to help construct the room the way it was now: thick wood posts and beams erected to hold up a ceiling of sort-of-insulated corrugated steel. It was separated from the actual house by the proper exterior yellow stone wall of the villa.

He couldn't read into it though, as in he actually could _not_ do so: Lovino's mother-in-law didn't know why he'd broken the engagement, not really. Chiara didn't know, Alice didn't know, Carlino didn't know, none of them knew the real reason why so there was no way to convince himself that he was sleeping in a converted patio garden because he was dirty or impure or corrupt. He was just sleazy and unwanted…

Horrible thoughts, poison really, but that just made him think of last night. He hooked one bare arm over his eyes with a groan, telling his mind to please stop- but what good would that do? He could feel the hairs on his arm pressing against his eyes, rubbing the limb back and forth trying to scratch them awake and muttering at the same time.

"_Mistake, mistake, mistake…_" This had all been a terrible mistake, he couldn't believe Lovino hadn't talked him out of this- it was all his fault! It had to be!

But no, last night had been awkward. He had not seen Alice: he had seen her mother. He could see the dinner table perfectly behind his closed eyes and rolled over to try sticking his head under a pillow to escape. It didn't work.

He could see the table perfectly: Lovino placing himself at the far end, the head of the table, with Chiara taking the opposite end after the food was set out. Donna Valenti had sat at her daughter's right, Carlino next to her on Lovino's left, Feliciano on his older brother's right, and then there had been one empty seat between himself and Chiara.

He'd been seated diagonally across from a woman who had been simultaneously an aunt and a second mother to all three of them while growing up. Feliciano been starving after too much travel and the Valenti household knew how to cook up a proper feast, but with Donna Valenti sitting there with her full, round face thinned from widowhood and age, her black curls grey and snarling around her deflated cheeks and harsh grey eyes, he hadn't tasted a thing on his plate. He could have been swallowing wet rope and modelling clay, because that was what the food felt like in his stomach.

If he said something he was glared at, if he stayed quiet he was huffed at, if he requested something from across the table he was just plain ignored until either of his brothers made the same request on his behalf. It was a shaming technique and Feliciano would argue his co-workers under the table that no one employed it better than an angry Italian mother.

Yes he did enjoy sitting at a table with his brothers. And yes, Chiara was a good hostess who had, however grudgingly, at least let him participate in whatever conversation was happening around him. No one talked about him: Carlino's questions about Berlin and Germany were deflected and turned into queries about the restaurant and winery. No one mentioned wedding rings or children.

Feliciano was convinced every time he saw Donna Valenti's eyes move from the empty seat across from her to his left hand, something was about to burst into flame. Alice's name wasn't so much as _breathed._

But she was in the house, because there was only one shower and it was up on the second floor where he had been just prior to dinner. Apparently after getting dressed again in a fresh shirt and pants he'd opened the bathroom door at exactly the wrong moment. She'd been right there, standing in front of him, as shocked as he was to see her and they both just stood there dumb and mute about it.

If Chiara was small and scary, then her sister was full and sparkling, it was just the way his mind worked to describe it. She was a lot like an animator's sketch, round hips and sloped shoulders attached by a dancer's slender waist, she'd always been the heavier sister but in a flattering way. He hadn't recognized her without a smile on her face, it was strange to see her arms pinned close to her body like clipped wings.

They'd stalled and said nothing to each other until her mother came up the stairs and saw them, and then with a voice like a cannon-shot he'd been told his brother wanted him for something. It wasn't a lie, but no voices had come from upstairs before Donna Valenti reappeared in the dining room and they all, minus one, sat down for a stifled, awkward meal.

Feliciano groped across the fold-out couch to find the edge, scraping his phone off the floor to check the time. It was quarter past five in the morning, and he knew after eleven he would belong to his brothers down at the restaurant- they were serious about making him work.

He had six hours to get up, get dressed, and go see his mother…

* * *

It took Ludwig until Thursday morning to open the trunk of Feliciano's car, and he didn't understand what he was looking at after he did it.

He'd thought Feliciano had taken his good suit jacket and pants with him. He'd thought that emerald tie was missing because it was one of his partner's favourites- a Christmas gift from two years ago. He didn't understand why there was a tin of shoe polish and his partner's best black shoes in a plastic bag. He just stood in the supermarket parking lot and stared at the items, completely at a loss when he saw the drycleaner's name on the hook the clothes were still resting on. They'd last been laundered a week and a half ago, the receipt was still attached.

"Lutz?"

When he got home, he moved past his brother with only a brief pause to make sure Gilbert would put the milk and eggs in the fridge, then went straight upstairs.

The spare bedroom on the second floor was their shared office space, dominated by Ludwig's work documents and filing cabinet. It was not a cluttered room, in fact it was strictly organized and tidy: he made a habit of filing any documents of Feliciano's that his partner left scattered around. He organized way-ward notes by size and colour in the middle of Feliciano's desk next to where his laptop usually rested in its docking station. It had been three days without Feliciano in the house, his desk had never looked neater, and Ludwig fished the key to his drawers out of his pocket where the rest of the ring had made its home.

The large filing drawer slid open with a click, the key still hanging in the lock as he thumbed through the documents until he found the red folder. Red meant finances according to the system Ludwig had organized for their household, and as he pulled the portfolio out he was surprised when his eyes caught something blue in the white folder just in front of it. White meant work, and from where he was crouched down next to the drawer Ludwig paused for a moment. He had every right to know what was going on in their household's finances, but he could have sworn that that looked like…

It was a twenty Euro note. Why was that pushed between several memos from Feliciano's boss and co-workers? How careless of him! Ludwig set the finance folder down with a sigh, reaching into the drawer and thumbing through the memos and scrapped brochures for various shows and exhibitions the gallery had put on over the years. A memo about photocopier use, something about chemical reactions, questions about some artistic form Ludwig couldn't say he knew anything about, but no mention of anything relating to a twenty euro bill that was from or meant to go to someone at work.

Foolish. Ludwig slipped the money into his own pocket with a huff and picked up the red file again, quickly taking it back to his own desk by the window and sitting down. He had the receipt from the drycleaner's already sitting there and quickly opened the red file. He thumbed through the various documents, utility bills mostly because Ludwig's paycheque carried the mortgage and taxes, and Feliciano dealt with the utilities and groceries. They covered their own gas, insurance, and health costs themselves.

There was nothing in the credit card records, and the bank statements showed nothing out of the ordinary. Feliciano always preferred to use cash when he could and that could be frustrating when it came to following the money in their household, but he hadn't made any surprise withdrawls anywhere. The usual amount of cash was withdrawn after every pay-day: he was sporadic about what and when he bought things, but quite careful about exactly how much he spent.

But there was no receipt to match the one from the cleaner's?

He must have done it for his birthday then, but that didn't make any sense either: they'd planned on spending the day in, there had been no talk of restaurants or anything that would require formal clothes.

Closing the file with a snap, he was upsetting himself and there was no reason for it. He placed his forehead down on his hand and just held his head up that way, eyes closed and taking several deep breaths. He was over-reacting.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Feliciano dressed up in that outfit, but to be completely honest his boyfriend had more than one black suit, and Ludwig's memory for which tie his partner _happened_ to be wearing on a given evening was extremely poor. They ate out as often as five or six times a month and went anywhere from a casual Saturday morning brunch or a fancier Wednesday night dinner. Feliciano had exhibitions to attend, was regularly called for consulting work, and had always been meticulous about his grooming even back in college.

But he was over-reacting, and there was little Ludwig could do to convince himself otherwise. What was he supposed to assume if it wasn't something innocent? That he was keeping clothes hidden in case he was seeing someone else? Absolutely no, preposterous, that made absolutely no… sense… at all…

No.

No that was not what had happened, what a ridiculous thought. Ludwig could still remember what it was like to get hugs and kisses from his friend Feliciano, and how awful it had been as a college junior when they'd been paired up by the housing lottery at their college to share their dorm room for their third year. It had been all kisses on cheeks and quick squeezes around the arms that ended too soon as far as Ludwig's still-a-teen mind had been concerned. Feliciano as a lover was much different than how he'd been as a friend, and despite the few tense weeks leading up to Lovino's visit and that disastrous birthday, he had not shifted back from one into the other.

Ludwig would have known. He knew the difference between a friendly Italian kiss on the cheek, and a confused, almost frightened kiss on the lips from a junior art's student who hadn't known how to rationalize their kind attraction. Ludwig had known before Feliciano did that he had finally come to grips with what he wanted, because those warm, passionate, full-body kisses and caresses he was so free with now hadn't appeared until they had already been dating for almost six months.

And they had never gone away, because no matter how angry they ever got at each other, if Feliciano was going to kiss him then he was going to put everything into it from the tilt of his head to the spread of his feet and everything in between. He didn't kiss without his hands, it was like asking him to talk with his wrists bound: he couldn't do it. Even a quick good-morning peck required a touch on the cheek, or a hand on his chest, even just a soft stroke over Ludwig's wrist when he brought them both coffee.

So no, no cheating, no affairs, he wouldn't let his mind think of it and he was furious with himself for letting it happen. He put the paperwork back in order and stormed across the room again, kneeling down to find the place where this file belonged before pushing the drawer shut. What was that sound?

He pulled the drawer back out again, and he heard the same sound. It was a paper rustle and tapped back and forth softly, but all of the files and their documents were settled neatly at the bottom of the drawer where they were hanging. Nothing was sticking up.

In and out again, and he could still hear it. He stooped down a little more and tilted his head, confused until he noticed something hanging…? Hanging from the bottom of the drawer above the files, the underside of the drawer that held pencils and pens and other office supplies his partner might need in a day.

Reaching inside, it was a bit of a squeeze for his wrist but Ludwig found a slip of paper attached there. With tape? Maybe it was some kind of instruction label they'd left on while installing the desk, but as he peeled it off, it…

A fifty Euro note. Orange, and decorated with a renaissance arch and bridge on the right side, there was a clear piece of plastic tape still stuck to it, and Ludwig couldn't come up with one sensible reason why it was stuck under the drawer. He just sat there on the floor for a moment, pulling the twenty he'd already found out of his pocket, and he didn't understand why there was almost a hundred Euros in his hands that hadn't been there before.

He didn't hesitate, he went straight to his laptop and opened Google. He hated that the search-engine knew what he wanted before he finished typing past "Adult".

Adult survivors of Child Abuse.

Scroll down.

Symptoms.

Click.

Ctrl + F: money.

Click.

Read.

They didn't talk about it. They never talked about it, and although it upset him sometimes Ludwig knew that they would never talk about it. He only knew pieces of it, things that had come out only after the incident three years ago. Feliciano's experience with his grandparents had triggered nightmares, and the nightmares had been terrifying to try and watch and sooth him through when he came home.

Feliciano had finally agreed to move in with him so he could cope with the dreams, because he was terrified of waking up alone. Ludwig knew his father had been the abuser, and that his mother had been the target, and that it was why Feliciano never spoke of his male parent. He'd answer all kinds of questions about his mother; he'd happily talk about her for hours, but he never said a word about _him._

Before then, Ludwig had always assumed abandonment as the reason why his partner was so clingy, why he was constantly looking for approval and affection from the people around him. Before they'd started regularly sharing a bed together Ludwig had never really noticed the scar across the side of his left hand, or the similar, sharp looking nicks and lines over Feliciano's palms and around his fingers. He'd thought Feliciano was just skittish around blood because he had a weak stomach, but the first time he'd met Lovino he'd had to change his mind: a small knife-wound on Ludwig's hand, almost nothing really, had prompted the same silent, urgent reaction from two brothers who were otherwise completely different in personality.

He was afraid of broken glass. Not paralyzed or terrified of it- but it frightened him. It was the only thing he would clean up in an instant if he saw it.

Ludwig had made the very, very bad mistake of trying to ask Lovino about it during that first tentative meeting six months ago, and it had probably been the event that triggered the rampant dislike they had for one another.

"_We don't talk about it."_ Was all he'd said, and he'd given Ludwig such a hostile look that he just couldn't stand to have him in the house anymore. The entire family was stuck in a past generation: as if ignoring the issue would make it go away!

But money was new. Feliciano had a habit of squirreling away treats and candies from time to time, but that was innocent: Gilbert was guilty of the same thing, and Ludwig had gone through his phases as a child as well. But his partner had never hidden money, Feliciano had never withheld his banking information or his purchase receipts. He practically volunteered the information most of the time: _look I did good_, _look I'm being responsible_, _look I paid everything on time again just like last month_. He was always looking for praise, why would he start hiding things? And in such bizarre places too, wouldn't one stash have been better, like that cherrywood box?

But Ludwig knew about the box…

He kept reading, and it was all information he'd already seen before. Lack of trust, lack of confidence, difficulties managing self-worth _yes, yes_ he knew all of this. For some reason Feliciano was still genuinely surprised whenever he did something kind for him like buy a bottle of his favourite wine or remember something as simple as an anniversary- or _god forbid_, his birthday… But this didn't answer his question: if Feliciano normally doubted he was contributing substantially to the household, why _hide_ money?

He looked back at the two notes sitting on his desk, the blue twenty and the orange fifty. The twenty was small and rumpled, casually dropped into a file maybe even by mistake while one of them was tidying up. The fifty was worth significantly more and deliberately hidden…

How _much_ was he hiding then?

It was a terrible thing to consider, but that just made him get up and try to figure it out. Ludwig decided that his search would turn up nothing before he started, so he immediately began moving books on the shelves and tugging open the unlocked drawer's in his partner's desk. He found a five-euro note and some change in the pen drawer and decided that that didn't count. He found a twenty between two renaissance history textbooks and didn't know how to cope with it.

He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. Was he still over-reacting?

"Dude, you alright?" He had a handful of money and no answers as he heard his brother's voice, turning around to see Gilbert standing there leaning on the doorframe, a confused look on Gilbert's face as he noted the handful of colourful bank notes he was worrying between his fingers. "Should I even ask?"

"When he left- you said he was running around the house?" When Feliciano'd packed his bag and stormed off back to Italy, nothing was missing but he'd carried on upstairs after his fight with Gilbert…

"Yeah..? I heard him swearing up here before he went and ransacked your room." The bedroom was probably clean then, Ludwig had never found anything like this where they slept. "Lutz sit down, you're lookin' a little shaky. What's with the cash?" Ludwig found his desk chair very, very slowly, easing his way down onto the plastic seat and slowly looking down at the money in his hands again. When he looked back up at the shelf, it was the first time he'd noticed that the books were out of order: Feliciano must have moved them and then shoved them back into place when he came through and took his laptop.

"Is this normal?" he asked, and he watched Gilbert fold his arms slowly and stay where he was, looking at the money as Ludwig fanned it between his hands. "For someone like him, someone with his past. Is this okay?"

"Where was it?"

"Everywhere." He looked at the desk, gestured to the disorganized bookshelf, held his hands up with no idea what to do with them. "I mean- unless this is yours?"

"What? _Nah._" Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Did PTSD victims have a tendency to hide money? He'd have to check after Gilbert left the room, but first his older brother just pulled a face, stretching his pale cheeks down and shaking his head with a shrug. Gilbert was animated about pulling away from the doorframe and brushing the issue aside completely, but it wasn't the jitter he got when he was lying: he calmed down too fast.

"Lutz, I can see from here that that's a new fifty, if you're not careful you'll cut yourself on it." He went back to slouching in the doorway, craning his long neck around and getting a good look at one of the rooms he rarely wandered into. His short-cropped platinum hair was almost white in the spring sunshine coming in through the window next to Ludwig, it washed all the colour out of him except one spot of red on the end of his nose. He looked like a ghost… "Don't ask me why it's not in the bank, but he does the dusting so he probably hid it then."

"I thought you did the dusting."

"No?" But Ludwig was sure… well, nevermind. "Oh, hey." Gilbert seemed done with the topic anyways. "When're you doin' laundry next? I'm outta clean stuff." Out of…?

"But I thought…" Didn't… Gilbert do the laundry?

"-so I'm gonna go do that." Huh?

"Sorry, what?" Ludwig hadn't caught a word of that, and it wasn't like him to miss things so obviously. Gilbert paused, but then went back through and repeated a wide arm gesture with both hands that meant he was about to go downstairs and leave.

"I'm gonna go, pick up your car from the garage 'cause the dudes called about it, and then I'm gonna go help a buddy a' mine move some boxes around." He didn't have to repeat it so _slowly¸_ he just hadn't heard it. "So I'm gonna go _do that._" Alright, fine, he got it and he understood. "But, if you're still feeling all out of it by the time I get back, maybe you an' I'll just take the cash and go get a beer or something."

"It's a Thursday."

"And you're home." He was on-call waiting for- "Right-right-right, I know, home-office and all that stuff yeah. Look, I said beer not bar-hop, okay? Think about it."

"I don't-"

"_Think about it!"_ Drumming his hands on the wall as he gagged out the words, Ludwig didn't know if he should smile at his brother's attempts to cheer him up or tsk him for behaving like a child. Either way-

"I'm outta here! No drinking without your awesome big brother to supervise!"

Either way, he still had a handful of cash and no answers…

* * *

**WHY IS IT SO LONG? I once again didn't get to the scene I wanted, but Ludwig popped up out of nowhere at all and took five pages for himself. It was nice to see him again though, so I don't mind.**

**I'll be around with 8 when it's done. Drop a review in the meantime? Thanks for reading!**


	8. Epitaphs and Soft Hands

**How Could An Angel Break My Heart, In The Late of Night, Whole Playlist.**

**Hey, I'd like to give a quick thank you to the anon who pointed out my detail blunder last chapter! The twenty turned into a ten because Sunny can't math, so I'll take what you said to heart and try to mind my details a bit better. I think I lost track of my week-days too, so that's something I need to try and get back in order. Thanks for the feedback!**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Epitaphs and Soft Hands

Their village was built into the hills and ridges of the mountains, rolling and curved around itself so you had to be in one of a few special places in order to see most of it, nevermind the whole thing at once.

The Valenti winery was a large property on the north-west edge of the village. The house had foundations that probably dated back to some magical era, and that bygone charm was preserved in the defensive wall built around the house and a central courtyard covered with white gravel: the place where the car was parked.

Feliciano escaped the converted villa without waking anyone up- except Lovino, but he'd been awake anyways and barely coherent without his morning coffee. His brother reminded him that he had to go to work with him today, but otherwise didn't get in Feliciano's way as he ducked out one of the back doors cutting across the property.

Villages weren't like cities, it was impossibly rare to find one where someone looked at it before it was built and said: "Here is main street, this will be the shopping district, and over there we'll put a public park". Maybe in the Americas it had happened like that, but certainly not in Italy or anywhere else in Europe for that matter. It was much faster for him to reach his destination by cutting across several acres of grape vines and low stone walls than finding his way back to a road and walking around the perimeter to reach the town. The sun wasn't too hot on his head yet either, in fact the March morning smelt more like wet grass and dew than dry dust and heat.

Under the sun's white brilliance everything was green. The grape vines arched up higher than he was tall to either side of him, and the carpets of green grass were getting his shoes wet as he set a quick pace to make sure he didn't lose his nerve or waver. His little brother had asked to come with him, the older hadn't questioned where he was going: Feliciano couldn't just wander around in the fields for three hours and pretend he'd done the right thing. This was half the reason he'd wanted to come home so he couldn't chicken out now and run away, and he couldn't expect anyone to hold his hand for it either.

The winery grounds sloped down at a very gentle angle, but eventually he had to deviate from going straight east and run along the edge of a familiar stream looking for the little wooden bridge that would carry him across the brook. He called it a "bridge" but it was probably fairer to call it a _"pile of random pieces of wood and old fences sort of damning up the water but not enough to be dangerous"._ He almost lost his footing on the slick boards and misplaced old stones, but that was the risk you took when the thaw was well under way up higher in the mountains.

From the brook it was a steep climb up on to someone else's property, and he heard the bell before he saw the steeple appear through the sun-dappled leaves over his head. He laid a hand on familiar trees as the hill tried throwing him off a few times, but when he reached a low stone wall he lifted himself right over it and set his feet down on hallowed ground.

The green grass continued here, and the light breeze that had followed him across the farmlands below was gone now, blocked by the trees and silenced by the heavy presence saturating the space. If he'd been wearing a hat, he would have removed it out of respect: he wasn't in God's house, but he was in his church yard and this almost felt a little bit like trespassing…

The white stone markers peppering the grounds appeared almost like mushrooms, their rows not quite straight in this old, old corner of the church-yard, their crosses weathered and worn to smooth edges and tilted in the soft ground. He picked his way carefully between the graves, aware of many childhood memories that involved tripping over broken or sunken headstones in the tall grass. As an adult the threat wasn't nearly as serious, but there was still something to be said about not traipsing over someone's unmarked remains. These graves were not neglected, they were just very, very old…

Coming out from under the trees however, the rows straightened up and the nigh-ancient tombstones gave way to newer slabs and arches. Crosses and angels were left standing guard over silent plots of once-disturbed earth, and as he shortened his stride carefully, he started counting rows and reading names…

Vargas was the name all three brothers had taken, but they'd had to make the choice to do so: Carlino had probably only legally changed his last year, Feliciano had signed the paper-work before applying for college, and Lovino had treated it like a birthday present. Switching to their mother's maiden name was a rite of passage, but the legal motions were just a formality: they had grown up as the Vargas Brothers. All those school-yard fights about _first _names had taught their teachers very quickly to ignore what was printed on the class list and call them by the name in brackets: _Vargas._ Not that other name.

Not _his_ name.

_He_ had nothing to do with why Feliciano was here however. _He_ had been out of the picture for so long that only Lovino really had a good grasp of who he'd been. Feliciano remembered some things but few details: it frightened him to think that maybe he could walk past _him_ one day on a street somewhere and never even know who he was, but sometimes it was security too. He remembered a loud, terrifying voice, he remembered broken dishes and being scooped up by his grandmother and taken out of the room to sit on her lap. He remembered sleeping at the same church sitting right here on his hill, and waiting for their uncle to bring him and Lovi the cakes they liked from the little bakery.

He remembered being told that _he_ was never coming home again, and he remembered not knowing whether he was supposed to laugh and tell his mother that he was happy, or cry because he hadn't understood why she'd shed so many tears that day.

That had been a long time ago.

But this, right now, was very recent. This was Feliciano finding the name he dreaded seeing carved into the grey marble, coming to a stop at the sight of the scrawling epitaph, and kneeling slowly in front of his mother.

_Marguerite Vargas_

_Beloved Mother of Three Beloved Sons_

_19XX-2009_

They hadn't changed the epitaph…

… _He should have brought her flowers._

"I'm sorry, mama…" Not about the flowers. There wasn't a bouquet for something like this. "I'm sorry." Sorry he hadn't visited sooner, and sorry that he'd visited at all. It was so quiet in the graveyard that his voice felt like a violation, even when he dropped it down to a shy, quiet whisper.

"I know you probably don't want me here. I know Grandpa and everyone have already told you everything- about what I did, what I became." What would she have done if she'd been alive to watch it? If she'd been standing in that room with everyone else when it all came pouring out of him?

"_I'm so sorry_…" He closed his eyes and squeezed out the cold, guilty tears as he bowed his head.

They hadn't even put flowers on her grave yet, they hadn't even cut the stone. Feliciano had flown from Berlin to Rome two weeks before his graduation- three before he'd promised to come home for a visit anyways. He'd left Ludwig behind because everything they'd said and discussed about him coming out had been changed by one hysterical phone-call from his grandmother and a sleepless night of trying to find any airline that would take him south on six hours' notice.

"I hurt our family when we were already hurting over you. I don't know what came over me, mama, I can't explain it…" He and Ludwig had wanted his mother and brothers to come _up_ from Italy for his graduation. That way they could talk to them, and tell them, and let Feliciano break it down and explain it to them in the softest, kindest way he could imagine. If that had gone well then he would have gone down with them back home, and there his mother would have helped talk to his uncles, and then his grandparents, and then the Valenti family… Feliciano might even have brought Ludwig with him for support- for help.

"But I regret it-" Not Ludwig though. Feliciano didn't regret Ludwig, he couldn't look back on four years of his life and tell himself he hadn't wanted it, or loved it. He couldn't lie and say that there hadn't been days or months at a time where he'd woken up every morning and told himself it was worth it to be this happy. But there were limits: "I regret the way it happened, and I'm sorry for how it happened, and I hate myself for doing it like that: for how I said it, in front of who was there. I'm sorry and I'm _just so sorry…"_

_Beloved Mother of Three Beloved Sons_. They'd chosen the epitaph before the funeral, before the wake at their grandparents' house. Feliciano had helped pay his share of the funeral costs and their uncles had given Carlino money so he could do the same thing despite his age and injuries. They hadn't held the funeral at her burial, they hadn't wanted to put Carlino through that experience, and standing over an unmarked plot of disturbed earth would have tortured the rest of them anyways.

You were supposed to wait three days before putting the body in the ground, that way you could hold a wake and let friends and neighbours come visit the lost, and the gravestone could be washed and cut while the grave itself was prepared. But because of how she'd died that hadn't been an option for them: her body couldn't be embalmed, and the family couldn't stand the idea of putting her in an oven.

Feliciano couldn't even remember when she'd been buried: he'd seen the black casket and he'd seen the filled-in grave, but everything in the middle had destroyed his sense of time. He hadn't been allowed to open the hinge hiding his mother from him; they'd said the glass from the windshield had done too much damage to let them show the family what she looked like. They'd said it had been a miracle that Carlino survived the crash at all…

Someone in all of that misery had taken it upon themselves to tell Feliciano not to go back to Germany. He couldn't for the life of him remember who it had been anymore, but they'd demanded the day after his mother's funeral that the village needed a wedding. When the idea caught like a fire and not even pleading for decency in mourning could make them stop, he'd made the most important announcement of his life at the worst possible moment for anyone to accept it.

It had taken Feliciano a week of being back in Ludwig's arms to understand what his grandfather meant when he'd said: _"My daughter only had two sons."_ It had become one of those things that, three years later, still woke him up on nights when the guilt and regret were at their worst. It became a nightmare where he was right here in front of this grave, crying exactly as he was today, but instead of looking up through his tears to read the words he'd helped choose his fears had told him to expect "two", not "three".

_The Beloved Mother of Two Beloved Sons_- if that had been the message his mother would carry with her into eternity, Feliciano didn't even know if he'd even be able to make it back to Berlin. But it said three. It still said _three…_

"I'm _sorry…_" Cupping one hand over his mouth, it was hurting not to scream and swallowing his sobs was making his gut tighten painfully. Feliciano closed his eyes again and let himself double over on his knees, feeling the dew soaking completely through his pant legs as the tears moved down his nose to drip into the green grass. He let himself just kneel there and cry, just cry, because he just hadn't been able to do it properly before now. He just hadn't been able to say good-bye without trying to see her one last time.

"_I miss you, I miss you so much…"_ She was his mother and he hadn't even been there when she died, no one had except Carlino and he'd been too scared for his own life to realize what had happened. "_I miss you more than anyone, I wish you could just come back…"_ Because she wasn't an awkward phone-call or an unanswered e-mail away, Feliciano couldn't just take a train down from Berlin and show up a few miles from her front door…

He covered his mouth and nose with both hands to muffle the sounds he was making and the words that were only half-formed as they fell out of him. He hadn't brought a handkerchief because he was an idiot, so he told himself he could just wash his hands in the creek as he stayed kneeling on the wet grass. It wasn't just tears and as he wept he felt the forces moving further down his body, away from his throat and the strangled things he wanted to say. The pain and the sobs both moved down into his gut, digging in deep and pulling away all the crusty, hardened realizations that had settled there after too long delaying this moment.

His mother was dead, and even if that seemed like a small thing to someone else, or if it was something he should have come to grips with a long time ago: it wasn't and he hadn't.

It was one thing to see a polished box and think _'She's in there'_, and it was something else to see a vacant plot of earth and be told _'She's down there'_, but to see the stone and read her name and be able to reach out and touch the words engraved there in the marble, it made it all become _real_.

And it was a kind of reality that made him feel very alone.

Because it meant the one love someone was always meant to have, the one sanctuary that was supposed to be a guarantee… gone?

He didn't know if that kind of realization was meant to make something click or break inside of him, but it made sure the tears kept coming. Like water coming down with the thaw, he hadn't felt the pain peak yet and swore that he'd make himself just ride it out. And even if he'd wanted it to stop, who was he supposed to rely on for help? He'd come here alone for a reason, this reason, and even if one of his brothers had decided to intrude the only person who'd been able to calm him down when the wound was fresh was hundreds of miles away getting on with his life.

Feliciano was alone and his mother was dead, the tears wouldn't stop and when he felt the pain bleeding into frustration he tried to suck in a lungful of air so he could hold it tight in his chest. He tightened both hands over his face so he couldn't breathe and closed his eyes so he couldn't see the stone, his heart hammering as his whole body shook from the sobs pounding against the scream trying to force its way out of him. He wasn't going to scream in a church-yard, he'd sob and he'd cry and he'd weep in front of his dead mother but he would _not-_

"Stop-" Something on his back, fluttering down between his bowed shoulders. "Stop, don't hurt me like this- _Feliciano…_" A voice he hadn't heard in so, _so long, _one that came whispering over his head before a body settled next to him and that light touch became a short arm around his shoulders.

He made a horrible sound into his hands and thought that maybe God would let him die before this meeting became a reality, but when he felt his grandmother's soft fingers cupping his chin and reaching around his head to pull him close, he just gave up. The smell of rose-water perfume and the stick of peppermint chap-stick on his forehead did him in faster than if he'd looked up and tried to choke out her name.

Dragging his hands down his face trying to clear away some of the tears and sweat, he tangled his fingers first over his knees and then down on the cool grass trying to wipe them clean. Feliciano let himself be swept up into gentle arms and buried his face against a soft cashmere sweater, a wrinkled hand petting his hair down the back of his neck as he tightened his fingers in the grass hard enough to start ripping it up.

"Cry, _shh,_ just cry…" She had a soft voice: she'd always been quiet. It was Grandpa whose voice was loud enough to shake the walls when he laughed or yelled. It was Grandma who never wasted words and just took her grandchildren by the hand to lead them away. "Don't hold it in like that, don't make her watch her boy in pain…" So he made another choking, painful sound as soft hands pulled him into a weak and exhausted hug, and Feliciano hated himself for all of it.

So much for holding on to dignity. So much for having self-respect. Everything about the humbled son come dressed up and respectful looking for forgiveness was dashed and the urge to scream redoubled its efforts against him. She couldn't have come here alone, the church was high on a hill and in her seventies his grandmother could not make that trip on her own. If his uncle who tended the church hadn't come with her, and if Carlino had honoured him and chosen not to climb the hill either, then that left only one other option.

"I'm sorry-" he couldn't face him now. Feliciano could _not_ face his grandfather like this. "I'll go, I'm sorry, I-" He pushed away from heavy rose-water and opened his blurry eyes to the solid lavender wrapped around stooped shoulders and the black floral print beneath it. He knew there were pearls because she would never step into a church without those milk-white beads in a strand around her throat, but he couldn't see them or her face because there was fear in him now.

"No, don't-"

"Please let me go." She took his wrist and held his arm, and it only stopped him because he couldn't tear himself away just because he was stronger than her.

"When did you get back? Where are you staying?" She was crying, he could hear it and if he tore his blurry eyes away from the two people he could barely see standing at the edge of the church yard, he could see how much hurt was swimming in his grandmother's black eyes. "Feliciano look at me, don't hurt me again." _Again?_

"_I'm sorry-!"_ She'd grown older in the last three years, the crowsfeet around her eyes growing into deep black lines, and the few shades of grey in her wiry brown curls had taken over what was once a proud mane. Her pink lips had thinned until he could barely see them against her tan complexion. Even the proud round end of her nose had grown smaller and begun to sink in like her eyes. They were both crying and he tried to pull away again before she touched his face and brushed away the blinding tears.

"I didn't want to hurt you: please let go before they come." Two people behind them tumbled too many terrible possibilities in his head, so why wouldn't she let him leave? "Lovino can explain, Mrs. Vargas so please-"

"Yaaaiii!" Her hands flew away from him and she held them up in the air for a moment, a betrayed expression peeling across her face before fresh tears came down with her hands into her lap, whooping the air like she wanted to hit him.

"Don't you _dare_ call me that- I don't care if you kiss _cats,_ Feliciano Vargas: I am your _grandmother_ and you do _not_-" No! No, no, no…

"It's what he said!" He didn't know if he was allowed to do it, but when he leaned over on his knees she threw her hands up again and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, letting him take her gently into a hug. He felt her shaking and weeping as she made a fist and hit him twice on his back, but her other hand was brushing through his hair making sure he pressed his face down into her shoulder and neck. "When I left he said-"

"I don't _care,_ you stupid boy." She held him tighter and he kept his eyes closed, trying to stop his tears and hide from the men he knew were watching. "He says what he wants: I don't care…"

"_Grandma…_"

"I don't care…"

* * *

Pacing. Restless. Angry.

"What is he doing here?"

"Lovino told me he was still in Berlin."

A huff. Disappointment. Frustration.

"Well clearly he is _not_."

"Father-"

Stomp-stomp. Insolent brat.

"He has no right to show his face here: do your job and send him away."

"Why don't we go inside first and give them a moment? …Father, please."

Irony.

"If you won't separate them then I will."

Honour.

"For Marguerite's sake, papa, _please."_

Painful silence.

Stilted breaths.

The old man entered the church with his son, leaving his wife and _that one_ to cry.

* * *

**Story has no pacing but lots of backstory. This is basically what was supposed to go into chapter 7, but then Ludwig showed up. It makes this day last a LOT longer, but I'm not exactly in a rush y'know? I didn't know who he should meet right at the end, it was either going to be Alice or his uncle the priest, but then out of nowhere I was like "NONNA YES" and that made things come together a lot faster.**

**FYI: These are not the same grandparents from my other human AU "Game of Cooks". She's not Grandmano (more like Mama!Greece this time?) and he at first is a hugely OOC Rome. You can tell just from how long it's taking me to introduce characters that this is, again, a REALLY BIG FIC. **

**So leave a review below and when I get back here with 9, we should have some brotherly shinanigans to lighten the mood. Thanks!**


	9. Detours and Dull Knives

**All You Wanted, Please Wake Up, Pieces, Hall of Fame, Whole Playlist.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Detours and the Shit Knife

When the boys were very little,

And Carlino wasn't born yet.

Their parents had a great

big

glass cabinet.

* * *

Feliciano was, of course, late getting from the graveyard to the restaurant. The hours of time he'd woken up with were devoured by the sight of his mother and the arrival of his grandmother, and despite the danger of it he'd left her side not long after the tears had finally slowed down and dried.

They both understood that now wasn't the time for Feliciano to try and face his grandfather, not yet. He kissed his grandmother and she told him that she'd help Lovino try and talk to the old man, promising quietly to come by the Valenti's house with Carlino sometime soon. After that she'd gone back into the church where her husband and Feliciano's uncle Benedict were waiting, and he escaped down the lane away from the site and continuing on into the town proper.

Their mother had been the youngest of three and the only girl: his uncle Mario was the eldest and had worked for several years in their family's restaurant before going into business with a friend in Rieti. He spent most of his time travelling between cities now, especially since letting Lovino take over the restaurant. After uncle Mario there came Benedict, the one who from Feliciano's earliest memory had smelt like candle wax and incense.

While uncle Mario knew his way around money and business, uncle Benedict knew his way around the world. Joining the clergy had sent him to Rome for a few years when he was younger, and he'd taken opportunities throughout Feliciano's childhood to visit the Americas, south Africa, and even a few large communities in eastern Asia. Mama's brother Mario was who you went to if you wanted a candy or needed someone to buy tickets to the school play. Mama's brother Benedict was who you went to if you'd failed another math test, or if one of your brothers had climbed too high up a tree and was now too scared to come down.

Neither one was the kind of uncle you went to for relationship advice for you and your gay lover. Feliciano didn't think those existed, but even if they did then his uncle Benedict would still probably not be one of them.

It had been something of a miracle for Feliciano to find a patient ear at the church he'd attended in university. He still attended the same services now, out of gratitude, even though there was another church much closer to where he and Ludwig lived. But the father there had listened to him both in and outside of confession, and whenever things had started carrying on too far he'd taken it upon himself to make sure Feliciano didn't do anything hasty or rash with his life while trying to cope. His mother's death, his family's reaction, even his own misgivings and Ludwig's difficult attitudes had all pushed him very hard for a very long time.

Ludwig didn't like the religion, any religion, but he had a special chip on his shoulder when it came to the Church. It was the great Big-Bad of European history to him, it stood for corruption and abuse and they'd had too many arguments about the issue for Feliciano to try thinking back on any of them. Ludwig only saw the big parts sometimes, the major atrocities, the total screw-ups and the totalitarian years.

He didn't understand that while yes, the Church was a human institution and therefore flawed like all humans were, the multitude of good things that had come out of it easily exceeded the bad. Feliciano was probably still here because of the intervention of one priest, wasn't he? And their university had, at its core, once been an old Christian monastery several centuries ago. That had to be worth something, didn't it?

Ludwig only saw the badness of religion, but Feliciano refused to give up his peace of mind just to meet unreasonable demands. And they were unreasonable: he'd never dragged Ludwig with him to mass, so Ludwig had no right to get in his way and tell Feliciano not to go.

While thinking about all of this, Feliciano did not get _lost_ on the way to the restaurant, he just went the wrong way. He went the long way between two streets and took a detour over old, rolling cobbles to find another hilltop bricked in houses and high walls, watching the yellow sun hit the white plaster and bounce back into his eyes. The heat was rising and the glare was getting worse, the March sky open and pure blue as it domed the landscape. Sunglasses.

And a hat. Except these hats were ugly.

So just the sunglasses and a bottle of water: he wasn't hungry. He picked up both items in a small shop, wrinkling his nose at the idea of buying a touristy hat for himself when he'd been born and raised here in this little town. His feet kicked up dust as he traipsed back down the hill he'd already climbed, following the jagged way the road had been cut into the terrain and ducking between buildings and behind blocks for the sheer hell of it.

The town was loud in its own way, but so much quieter than Berlin. Here he could look up at steep windows and balconies and hear televisions blaring, or voices laughing or speaking loudly to one another. There were cars, but he stayed away from the wider lanes where they could travel, scooting past a parked truck where boxes were being unloaded. When he came around the next corner to re-establish his bearings in the rising dust and heat, he immediately recognize where he was. That truck behind him was dropping off as a shipment of fresh produce for the little deli where the three brothers had usually gone for ice-cream as kids.

The white paint on the front was still weather-beaten and peeling off, the green awning from childhood bleached white from the sun, but just peering in through the open door he saw the gelato stand that had entranced him as a child. Six flavours was what they'd grown up on, all hand-made in the back room. Jars of candy and shelves stocked with canned goods, boxed mixes, snacks and bread and cheese filled the rest of the little shop, and it felt so familiar he wondered if anyone would recognize him if he went inside.

He almost tried it, but when he thought he saw the old store owner Feliciano's nerve fled him and he turned away quickly to hurry back down the street. He couldn't face his grandfather yet, and that meant he certainly couldn't face their neighbours either… Not this soon anyways.

Besides, he checked his watch and- oh. It was already past eleven.

"You're fucking late!"

See? Late.

"I'm sorry! I got distracted-"

"Distracted my foot you got fucking lost you stupid shit."

"You're the stupid one if you think I got lost."

The restaurant used to be a cantina- more a place to come and drink than to come and eat. After the war it was abandoned and when their grandfather came of age he'd bought the run-down, single level shack for cheap and tore down most of the walls before rebuilding them. From the outside the first two things you noticed were the massive garden growing around it on all sides, and the great big black water-wheel bolted to the white exterior wall under the slopped red tile roof. No one was really sure where the water wheel had actually come from since they were across town from the main body of the river, but there it was on the outside, and that was how you were supposed to know you were at the right place.

If you were far from the piazza where tourists wandered, then you had to be noticeable in some other way. In order to have their garden, and probably because the site had been cheaper, Grandpa had bought just outside the busier centre of town, but closer to the main highway. The Pinwheel was a trap that drew hungry travellers on their way to Rieti aside to visit the smaller town instead. The location, therefore, was as profitable as it was unorthodox.

The wooden fence out front had a gate with an arch announcing the name in proud Italian, and his brother was standing under it waiting for him with a scowl. The red paint was beginning to fleck from the words overhead as Lovino clamped a hand around the back of Feliciano's neck and dragged him over the white gravel and step-stones leading to the propped-open red doors and into the tiled and stucco'd interior of the restaurant. It was only a few steps to get there, but the smell of lavender, mint, and assorted herbs and flowers blooming in the front part of the garden were still powerful and alluring.

This place was as much home as the building where they'd kept their beds. They'd done homework on the back counter where the original cantina's bar and fixtures had been updated with pale wood and sparkling crystal. All three brothers had enjoyed their first job sweeping floors and bussing the dozen tables inside and out on the sunny patio, then taking orders and delivering food, and after at least two summers doing nothing but chopping vegetables in the morning, talking to customers all afternoon, and washing pans at night, they were actually allowed to have either Grandpa or Uncle Mario show them how to cook.

"You're late as fuck, now take the shit knife and-"

"Oh no, no you don't mean that." They moved from the familiar front of house with its half-steps and red terracotta tiles into the back with the florescent lighting and random stainless steel appliances next to 1960s grills and cutting boards. Feliciano was just taking off his jacket and tie when he heard Lovino say _'shit knife'_.

"Shit knife, and the shit uniform too."

"Lovino _please_…"

The shit knife was the last piece of a lousy knife-set someone had bought years and years ago: it went dull after only a few strokes and had lost mass and weight over the years from needing so much sharpening. It looked more like a sickle now and was kept around for exactly one purpose: to annoy whoever was made to use it. It was their restaurant's hazing technique: if a new cook could handle one week working with just the shit knife, then they were worth keeping around.

The shit uniform was just the oldest, rattiest uniform on the rack. Nothing special about it, it was just ugly and was, again, only kept around to be used in tandem with the shit knife.

"But I'm only here for a week…" So no, Lovino, please no, don't make him use that one. He buttoned up the used-to-be-white body of the stained uniform his brother handed him so his clothes wouldn't get dirty, but the knife with its sad, curved blade and ugly plastic handle with a hole drilled through it was something he tried backing away from. "Maybe I should go back to the house and try doing some dramatic painting with soft background music, like in the movies!"

"Fuck you." Lovino was always mean after his morning coffee, and the scowl over his green eyes wasn't helping right now either. He made a threatening gesture with the knife and Feliciano tried to stop two summers of forgotten resentment from surging up. His unwilling fingers closed around the cheap black handle just as the backdoor leading out into the restaurant's vegetable garden rattled open.

"Hey, you're here!" Carlino's happy voice made him turn around, momentarily forgetting his plight when he saw his younger brother with a wicker basket over his shoulder and a big grin on his golden face. "Here're the onions we need you to chop, but since you're late you'll have to go extra fast."

Onions. On his first day they were giving him a bushel of onions.

"I thought I was done crying today…" Feliciano whined, tempted to call them both out for treating him like this, but somehow his comment only made things worse. It was a small kitchen so the two older brothers had to shuffle over so Carlino could pass them with his burden, but as Feliciano turned to watch and figure out where exactly they were going to make him stand and hack away at the sprouts, he found himself pulled into an unexpected hug.

"I kinda wish you hadn't gone alone." Lovino muttered, somehow managing to sound put-out and annoyed despite how close he was holding him. Lovino didn't hand out hugs very often though, so Feliciano was quick to return the gesture and squeeze his older brother tight.

"I'm okay." He murmured back, closing his eyes for a moment before remembering himself and straightening up a little. He knew how long it had taken Lovino to get comfortable giving him hugs and kisses again, so it wasn't worth it to push his luck sometimes. Still, Feliciano could admit to himself that he felt a little bit better with just the short embrace. "Really, I'm fine! Don't make that worried face: it makes you look old."

"Shut up and go peel your onions then." Feliciano grinned and then stuck his tongue out like a child, watching Lovino cover whatever goodness was in him with angry hisses and a swat to Feliciano's head as he scooted past him. "Carlino show him what to do, I'm gonna go find our lazy staff and open the till."

"You sure you're okay to work after this morning?" Carlino asked, dropping his voice like it was a secret as Lovino left in a huff. Feliciano just stepped across the kitchen and noticed that his brother had set the basket down on a section of counter right next to the _oven_ of all places, so he was more worried about the fact that his brothers were trying to kill him.

"Working will be good for me, but you know I've been in Germany all this time, right?" His little brother blinked confused green eyes at him, and Feliciano stitched the fakest grin he could manage onto his face, intentionally doing a bad enough job that the younger one got a bit nervous. "The oven? Really? Are you trying to murder your big brother on his second day home? That's not very nice you know."

"Oh come on! It's only March it's not even that hot yet."

"Germany." He repeated. "Seven years in Germany." He was exaggerating but that was the fun of it, especially since it took his little brother a few more minutes and a couple stifled laughs on Feliciano's part before he understood it was a joke.

"Stop teasing me! I'm not a little kid anymore!" Lies, Feliciano would never believe him: he would always be that slightly smaller person Feliciano used to grab under the arms and drag around like a big sack of- "_Cut it out!_"

With most of the teasing out of his system, Feliciano let his little brother walk him through what was the same or had changed over the years. The tables had a new layout, some of the equipment in the kitchen was new, a lot of the menu had been swapped for new dishes and recipes now that the restaurant was mostly Lovino's and their uncle Mario had stepped down to be just a partner and investor. Most of the prep work for the afternoon service was already done, but in his corner of the kitchen Feliciano was assigned to chopping and peeling everything they'd need for the evening service.

His job, aside from dealing with the worst knife in the kitchen, was to watch and try to reacquaint himself with the restaurant and its rhythm. It was a fair task.

When Feliciano had last worked here, Lovino had been in the kitchen for almost every service, now he was management, owner, and the face of the restaurant. He had to be dressed well and organize the front of the house, not run around splashed with tomato sauce with garlic ingrained under his fingernails. Now Carlino was second cook on the line, the right hand to the actual chef who Feliciano wasn't familiar with, but they shook hands and Feliciano's temporary position was explained. After the chef and Carlino, there was one more cook- a young French woman he learned was actually from Monaco when she introduced herself, and that was it for the kitchen staff. Lovino had at least two members of the wait staff managing the front with him, but when he needed to he shouted back for Carlino to come out and handle something. It was all part of Carlino's training as the lunch orders started coming through.

Once the restaurant actually started preparing and serving food, the time went faster. Feliciano was on the outside looking in, really, standing in a hot little bubble by the oven with his hands repeating motions they'd sworn off to shuck onions and slice, dice, or chop them as instructed. There were also peppers, zucchini and eggplants waiting for him, nevermind the block of cheese that needed grating for the evening service.

The knife he'd been given was frustrating and he ended up cutting himself once before remembering that every two vegetables he needed to rake the blade across the sharpening steel left out specifically for him. Thankfully, just in the time it took him to look up from shaving down the steel, he saw the rhythm of the people around him.

Feliciano watched hot pans move from stove tops to ovens, salads coming together in bowls that were grabbed and washed before they left the chef's hand. A bell by the small window cut into the brick wall dinged each time tickets and plates passed back and forth for service, voices travelling down the kitchen line and echoing from the dining room on the other side of the wall. The kitchen was loud, because over the sizzle of meats and the scrape of mixing bowls, there was that constant talk and chatter.

If Feliciano looked up for more than a second, he was watching his younger brother communicate between the second line cook and the chef. Carlino kept his hands clean and busy, moving quickly and comfortably from heavy skillets to sharp steel knives. He switched from Italian to French faster than Feliciano ever balanced his mother tongue and German, communicating quickly with the woman in charge of dressing salads and rinsing pots before going back to check the lamb for an entree or the light simmer and seasoning on a sauce.

Feliciano hadn't thought to wear a watch and just fell into his own rhythm of peeling, slicing and dropping the results into the stainless steel containers left out for filling. With regards to the onion fumes that stung and attacked his eyes: there was nothing he could do about them except keep his eyes open and tilt his head so the tears that had nothing to do with grief or sadness just trickled down without comment. He wasn't upset, in fact as long as he was allowed to pop over to the sink when he needed it and gulp down cold water, his feet were hurting but he was fine.

He had been out of the restaurant for years, but he'd worked in it for a long time too. With a sharp whistle to get Carlino's attention, he was told where he could find lettuce heads and tomatoes and timed his journey across the kitchen and back again without interrupting the flow of pans and plates. He found the old warped knife was missing when he got back, the hole drilled through its handle keeping it suspended clean and threatening on the wall by a nail, and there was a proper straight knife waiting for him.

He saw Lovino's face flash briefly through the little window and watched his brother make a face at him and thumb his nose. Feliciano just flipped the knife over his hand and went back to work.

His feet were killing him long before he ran out of vegetables, and by the time he noticed it getting dark outside his hands were prune-y and stank of onions and tomatoes. When he was told to stop chopping he didn't need the third cook to show him the sink: he'd spent enough nights washing dishes to know that the stacks of sauce-smeared plates and bowls were his task now.

His shoulders were stiff and his arms were going numb, but it was a monotonous job to rinse, stack, and load the dishes into the kitchen's sanitizer. He broke one dish and swept up the shards without asking where the broom was, getting back to work with utensils and chaffing pans. He didn't notice his eyes going cross until he went reaching for the next stack of cups and almost pitched over onto the floor.

Then everything started _spinning_…

"You can take a break soon if you want." Carlino's voice came by like a whirlwind and was gone again before he could muster up an answer, which was probably why a moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder. He had one hand planted on the edge of the sink, but the rest of him was still sagging dangerously. Was he sweating? "Are you okay?" Oh, he knew what the problem was…

"I didn't eat…" He grunted, telling himself to stand up straight and failing when his legs felt weak.

"Dinner? We don't usually have anything until later-"

"No, anything." No breakfast before leaving the house and he hadn't picked up anything to eat while walking through the town. He was running off last night's dinner and that was now exhausted from working. Feliciano was used to sitting hunched over at his station with paints and oils at work, not spending hours on his feet moving things around. "I get a break soon? I just need something to snack on and I'll be fine."

"Aah, why don't I get Lovino? Here, take your break now and just sit down." This was stupid, he wasn't sick: he'd just let his emotions kill his appetite for a day.

But try as he might to explain this, Carlino led him out that back door and into the cool evening air where a couple of chairs and an ash tray were sitting on the gravel path. He didn't want a cigarette and he'd left the pack he'd bought in Munich at the house anyways, but at least it was much quieter out in the dusk as his brother hovered nervously before rushing back inside.

It left Felicaino alone in the quiet with another glass of water and his thoughts, but he tried not to think too much as he told his body to stop acting like he was getting sick over nothing: it was nerves and no food, nothing more.

He looked around to take his mind off everything instead, pleased when he saw how well the garden was thriving around him. With the restaurant's demand for fresh produce, there was no way this patch of green could supply them for more than a week, but fresh herbs and lemon slices from the fragrant tree in the corner could make an impact when used sparingly. It was calming to close his eyes and smell the mint leaves growing thick in the flowerbed behind his chair, a light breeze rustling the leaves of the lemon tree that looked a bit thicker and stronger than when he'd last seen it.

Then he heard stomping feet coming at him from inside, and before Feliciano could open his mouth to explain, something soft and firm was wedged in his mouth and Lovino came down on him like a hammer:

"You stupid shit!" Lovino- "Passing the fuck out on me for no fucking reason! What do you mean you haven't fucking eaten all day you moron what do you think we're too fucking poor to feed my fucking brother in the morning?" He hadn't- "Did that cock-sucking German take all your fucking money so you couldn't fucking buy yourself a god-damned sandwich while wandering around being late for work I-"

It was a pear, by the way. His brother had shoved a pear in his mouth which Feliciano now removed and took a bite out of before speaking.

"For god's sake, Lovino keep your voice down." This was exactly the kind of conversation Lovino's guests wanted to hear, and with green eyes still boring down on him and Lovino's mouth getting ready to open up and bombard him again, Feliciano spoke up: "I didn't pass out, I just got dizzy. I didn't trust myself to eat this morning-" he'd been terrified of throwing up if seeing their mother had been as hard on him as it wound up being. "And I wasn't hungry after I left the graveyard." But he was hungry now, and he bit through the bitter skin of the pear to get at the sweet white flesh inside, licking up the juice so it didn't get down his face and hands.

"You're still a stupid shit, and you're going to get changed and go home for the night."

"Oh come on, I'm fine!" He held up the pear he was happily chomping away on, making sure to take an extra big bite so nearly half of it was already gone. "I'll finish this, have some water and work until the end of service-"

"It's only six o'clock."

"Did you change the hours?" Lovino seemed confused by the question, so Feliciano continued while his brother folded his arms and tapped one foot impatiently on the ground. "Lunch service is long over, and you don't end service until eleven. Then it's clean up until midnight before lock up and go home. I know how it works, Lovino, Germany didn't wipe my memory or something." It was the wrong thing to end with but his brother just scowled and huffed at him, skipping over the comment completely.

"And you're going to do all that on a fucking pear." Feliciano could try. "_No_. If you were coming back full time then sure I'd make you do it, but even if I pay you for this week I don't expect you to work twelve hour shifts out of nowhere."

"I thought I was being paid in heart-ache and bad reunions." At the look from Lovino he stuffed the other side of his pear in his mouth to shut himself up. The sweet was helping him: the world wasn't spinning but now his stomach was awake. He was _hungry._

"Did you see Grandma today?"

"I did," Feliciano placed his weight on his elbows, letting them dig into his knees as he looked down and finished chewing the rest of his pear. "Can we talk about it later, though?" Or not at all, but he wouldn't be that lucky.

"Did you see Alice?"

"No." He'd really rather talk about this later.

"You can't keep avoiding it." He wasn't _trying_ to. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

"Lovino I'm fi-"

"For Carlino's sake, please, Feliciano." Aah… Lovino didn't say '_please'_ very often, and he didn't put on that soulful, sorry face either. It was hard to see in the dimming light, but with the glare coming out from the open door Feliciano could look up and see the way his brother's brow was wrinkled and he was, of all things, worrying a set of keys between his fingers so they twinkled in the light. He actually looked _worried_, and even if he wasn't upset about a little dizzy spell then that meant there was something else eating at him.

It was too much stress, Feliciano decided. He'd only been here a day and a half and he was already causing his brother too much stress…

"Did you see Grandpa today when you were opening up?" He asked quietly, and this time it was Lovino's turn to drop his eyes and look away. That said enough then, didn't it?

"Come on, we'll talk about it in the truck." There was… really no way to express how much Feliciano did not want to talk about it. "Oi- Carlino! I'll be gone for an hour, I'm taking him home. Gorgio's already here so he should be in to start washing dishes in a minute, cover for me in the front!"

"_Ah, okay!"_ He couldn't see Carlino's face, he just heard his brother's voice making the change again from French into Italian. _"Good night, Feliciano! We'll see you again tomorrow, right?"_

Ah-

"Right, yes!" Or…

With the way Lovino wasn't looking at him… maybe not.

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**Plot you are slow. Not as pleased with the writing this time around, but last chapter was a really good one for me so, bleh. **

**I was absolutely thrilled with the amount of feedback last chapter though! Thank you! More feedback means faster chapter updates, but for those of you also reading Recovery: don't worry, I'm still working on it. I'm not 100% on whether or not I'll get it done for Sunday exactly, but it should be close.**

**See you soon, and thanks for reading!**


	10. Anger and Tomato Sauce

**Somewhere, The Cloverfield, Liquid Mountains, whole playlist.**

**I know what the opening lines are for I just don't know why I inconsistently started doing them on the 9th chapter. I think it's 'cause their parents' situation wasn't explained until 8.**

**Or something.**

**It's a first draft AHAHAHA.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Anger and Tomato Sauce

That cabinet had not been made of glass.

Just the doors.

And the shelves.

And everything inside.

* * *

Feliciano had rented a convertible, but Lovino actually owned a truck. It wasn't a classy way to get around but the machine rumbled down the quiet road around town to take the long-way back to the house. The younger brother didn't ask why they were detouring, he just let Lovino quietly drive and try to settle his thoughts.

Finally, he just couldn't take it anymore:

"What did grandpa say to you?"

Lovino didn't want to talk.

"He was mad." Well, Feliciano could have guessed that. He watched Lovino rub his upper lip with one finger and tried to focus out through the windshield instead. "He said I should have asked his permission before inviting you down."

"Would he have given it?"

"No." That hurt, but he figured he was just being too sensitive… "But you're not staying with him, so why should I have to ask? He doesn't run the fucking town." There was a sudden break in Lovino's voice and he occupied himself with checking for traffic on the dark, abandoned lane. They had to stop having these conversations while his brother was trying to drive.

"Spit it out." No more suspense, please? It had been a long day.

"He doesn't run the restaurant anymore either." Oh…

"He isn't okay with me working there, is he?" He probably didn't want Feliciano stepping foot in the establishment… "Don't make him mad, Lovino, it's not worth it."

"The fuck do you mean 'not worth it'?" He meant- "I can take his shit for a week, Feli, it's not as bad as you think." Well Lovino sure knew how to make it sound bad. "Chichi keeps bitching at me about the same things. It's annoying, but I'm going up to Rieti for most of tomorrow anyways so I won't have to keep hearing about it."

"Business?" Did he want Feliciano to come? He wasn't sure how useful he'd be, but if Lovino's wife wanted him gone as badly as their grandfather did then he'd welcome the distance. "If it's easier to keep me out of the restaurant then I won't-"

"Shut up: you're going to work the afternoon service and end at four when things slow down. Today got hectic when that tour-bus showed up, otherwise I would have kicked your ass out sooner."

"Tour-bus?" He hadn't even noticed something like that, the kitchen had been busy the whole time he was back there. "Is that why you have three cooks now instead of just two?"

"Yes." _Rude._ "And we keep getting more German and Austrian tourists too, so wash that onion stench off your hands tonight so you can deal with them tomorrow." Front of house then.

"So you're just going to keep moving me around until I go home?" He said it with a smile because he was sick of being nervous and unsettled. Today had lasted far too long and he just wanted to be at ease.

"Unless you want to spend the rest of the week slicing tomatoes, then yes." Fair enough, he wasn't mad about it. It was better they give him unskilled work like he'd done today, or put him out with customers, than expect him to cook. He'd never been into preparing things at the restaurant's fast pace. "And before you ask about him: it's up to you."

"Ve?" They were coming up to the house now, but Lovino kept the conversation going as they passed into the courtyard.

"Carlino." What about him? The truck rumbled to a stop and his brother cranked up on the parking brake to keep the vehicle from moving before looking at him directly. "If you want to tell him, then it's up to you. I've wanted to but if he had any questions I wouldn't know what the fuck to say except give him your boyfriend's stupid resume." Uh- that really wasn't what he'd expected.

"You'd really be alright if I told him?" Secret-keeping seemed to be the family's preferred coping method, but Feliciano just watched Lovino shut off the engine and slump back in his seat, keys still dangling in the ignition.

"He's not sixteen anymore." Lovino was treating the topic like it weighed ten pounds around his neck, but maybe it did. "He's got his own money now. He's almost twenty and if he told me next month he wanted to go track you down in Berlin it's not like I could actually stop him. I thought he was gonna hit me when I told him he couldn't come with me last week to see you."

"You're kidding." That didn't sound like their brother at all. "He'd never do something like that- why are you making that face again?"

That face: when Lovino's green eyes slipped out of focus and he just stared at the dashboard and the house lights shining through the windshield. That weight around his neck moved like a hood to shadow his face, making the corners of his mouth sink down and his body slump further back like he'd given up trying to hold himself straight.

"He's still mad, Feli." Why did he have to say that so quietly?

"About Mama? That wasn't his fault." Carlino had been sixteen: it had been night time, raining, it was no one's fault. But Lovino shook his head and looked at him again.

"No. About you: she died and a week later we were telling him you'd never come home again." His brother put things bluntly and Feliciano just had to sit there and take it, because it was true. "He knows he's supposed to hate you but Grandpa's story is weak and I can't fucking explain it either. He doesn't get why you were run out of town the way Papa was, or how we could do that and then turn around and forgive him at the same time." Just saying it out loud pushed Lovino to close his eyes and rub them with one hand, pinching his nose hard before sitting up in front of the wheel so he could lay his head back on the headrest behind him. "He's still so mad."

"I'll talk to him." Or at least he'd try. Feliciano couldn't remember too many times in the past where Lovino had needed him to bridge the gap between him and their youngest brother. Only little things came to mind: broken toys or spilled paint, not important things. Not emotional things. "And you'll be in Rieti all day tomorrow, right?"

"I should be back in the evening. I'm not spending the night." Well, of course he wouldn't, but whatever. "But you need to go eat some fucking dinner, and I have to get back to my restaurant."

They said good night to each other and Feliciano climbed out of the truck. He had to promise again to talk to their little brother before Lovino seemed satisfied enough to let him traverse the long, dangerous path to the door. Ooh, so spooky!

But once he heard the engine start up and carry his brother away, it was a bit harder to take things so lightly. He hadn't seen the other three members of Lovino's household all day, not even that morning when he'd slipped out before breakfast, so being alone in the house now with most of the lights off was a bit scarier than he'd otherwise want to admit. He knew how he'd handle Chiara though, so as he padded quietly from the entry way and across the living room to find the kitchen light still on, he really, really hoped it would be his sister-in-law.

If it was her mother then he'd run away, even if he could smell the sharp aroma of tomato sauce and hear the low rumble of a boiling pot. It was late for someone to be up cooking, but maybe-

"Oh-"

"Uh?"

Shit.

He knew he should run but Feliciano's legs decided against moving, just like how a sudden rush of anxiety not only stunned his chest but then gave him a firm knock to the head to scatter his thoughts. His fight-or-flight instincts were tied up in a knot, and at least seven seconds of painful, staunch silence passed before the woman standing by the stove spoke first.

"Are you hungry?" Alice's brown eyes were supposed to be lighter than his, more of a light hazel really. She dropped them back to the pans sitting on the stove top and started stirring the heavily spiced sauce simmering in one of them. The motion was fast and caused the red to dribble over the lip of the pan by accident.

"Sorry." He wanted the word back because he wasn't sure if he meant _'I'm sorry for barging in'_ or _'I'm sorry for staying in your house'_ or _'I'm sorry for everything that happened that you shouldn't forgive me for'_. The fact that she didn't even look back at him to ask which one it was didn't help him figure out something better to say. "I mean- I can go wash up instead."

"It's just left-overs." He was over-reacting then, he had to be. That she wasn't happy to see him was obvious, but the way she just turned off both burners with a snap and shifted the sauce off the heat didn't give off the same threatening vibe as when her sister said 'hello' to him. When she reached over to take the stock-pot off the stove and strain the pasta inside, Feliciano finally woke up and stepped forward.

"Let me do it."

"It's not heavy-"

"Please?" And then he stopped walking because she stopped moving and looked at him. Her face was longer than her sister's, dusted with sunspots over her straight nose and the curves of her cheeks from days spent outside. Her hair was much lighter than Chiara's though, more like brandy or another smooth, golden liqueur. She'd been going all day and he could see it: she had most of her hair tied up in a mess behind her head, and if she'd worn any make-up while she was out then she'd already scrubbed it off. Her forehead had that shine to it that just came from being busy, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her dressed in a track suit- this one was grey with pink racing stripes running down the pants and patterned over the shoulders.

She had her fingers curled around the stainless-steel handles of the pot, but while he was busy looking at her she was dealing it back just as good. When she finally pulled her hands away she gave a soft huff from her nose, and then took a step to move around him.

"You smell like onions."

"Um, thank you?" He deserved a smack for making a joke, but she was already past him and he thought he heard another huff- the kind a person like her made when she didn't want to laugh. Right or wrong it made it easier for Feliciano to lift the pot up and carry it to the sink where a colander was already waiting to catch the pasta. "Is there a reason you're cooking this late?"

"Chichi and my mother already went to bed, I just got home."

"Were you at work?" No, he thought better of the question too late to take it back, but he had always thought she'd decided to work with Chiara with the winery? He focused on not splashing himself with the hot water as he let the yellow noodles collect in the steel colander, enjoying the sweet smell of the steam as a cloud of it billowed up just past his face.

"I was dancing." He heard plates cutting against each other as he set the pot down on the counter and gingerly handled the colander, shaking off a bit more of the water before the ring of cutlery made him look around over his shoulder. Alice wasn't looking at him, she was busy setting a pair of forks down next to two shallow bowls on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Somehow he had it in him to agree with her: if they were going to eat together, then it would be nicer to stand in the bright kitchen than sit awkwardly in the dim glow of the dining room. Something about the white florescent light and pale rose colour on the walls made this a more inviting space to stay in, even with the lack of seating.

"At the same place?" He asked, satisfied with the way the pasta looked and bringing it over for her to portion it out onto the two plates, the re-heated sauce was sitting in its pan with an oven mitt underneath to keep it from scoring the black stone countertop. He could see the big chunks of zucchini and tomato clumped together and wrapped in herbs, all of it cooked and simmered down until the sharp flavours began to mellow and meld together: much better than any store-bought sauce.

"Mm. We have a production coming up at the end of next month, so there was practice tonight." It was easier to talk about her than to talk about him. When Alice was finished spooning her dinner into the shallow depth of her bowl, Feliciano carefully took the rest of it. He was too hungry for flavour and just wracked his memory for the name of the dance studio in Rieti that his ex-fiancé had lived and breathed for since as long as he could remember. He could see the building in his mind, but the name eluded him after such a long day.

"Do you work for them now?" She must have had her own car if she was willing to drive back and forth from the larger town. They both ate in silence for a few more moments, the full taste of the tomatoes and spices waking him up as much as the warmth and weight of the meal was starting to put Feliciano to sleep. If he hadn't been standing on the opposite side of the island from her, he might have been in danger of just nodding off.

"No, no I manage things here." Alice dropped her voice and her fork just spun a few times in her plate, chasing one stubborn piece of pasta across the river of red before giving up on it and lancing a piece of zucchini instead. "Two years for Marketing." He... remembered when they'd talked about that actually, years ago: one partner trained in Germany for finance and business development, the other trained locally in advertising and marketing... "The money's better."

It was Feliciano's turn to pretend he didn't know how to use a fork. His stomach couldn't convince his hand that he wanted that last chunk of home-made sauce, and his mouth didn't feel like obliging his hunger either. Art History.

"Lovino's been raving about how well the winery's doing." He tried, but the words fell flat.

"Mm." Things were beginning to stall again, he could feel it and with a dry tongue and guilty mind Feliciano couldn't find the words to fix it. He almost spouted _'I'm sorry'_ again before he stopped himself from making things even more awkward than before.

"Will you be taking a few bottles back with you?" She asked, stepping away from the counter and her plate. There was a large wine-rack on the wall behind her, but Alice pulled a pair of straight glasses out of a nearby cupboard and ran the kitchen tap instead. "You'd like last year's red- if you still prefer dry wines."

"I do. And I have friends who'd probably want to try a few different kinds." Maybe the word Feliciano wasn't _'stall'_ so much as it was _'turn'_. The conversation was turning, and when Alice came back and offered one of the water glasses to him, Feliciano felt a lot like one of those politicians on television. He made himself only sip the cold water, trying to figure out what kind of signal she was sending when she drained half of hers with a few deep gulps.

He was over-analyzing things aga-

"Is your wife one of them?" The way the thick bottom of her glass hit the granite said almost as much as how fast she said the words. Feliciano was not over-analyzing anything, especially not when he could feel his heart beginning to drum against his ribs and the nervous heat flooding his throat and chest.

He caught himself staring at the way the pink stripe down her side buckled and folded down the curve of her waist and blinked. His gaze made it to her shoulder this time and then slid past her like water off an oiled canvas. Feliciano's eyes were on the bottle necks stacked behind her, the winery's gold crest twinkling at him a dozen times over as he lifted his water and took another small sip.

"I'm not married." His throat was thick now and his mouth felt no better. He could have just said something like_ 'I'm the wine-drinker'_ instead, or commented about the household in general, but it didn't work. He wasn't going to step around the issue quite so boldly.

"Why not?" Funny: it was the same question he'd asked Lovino when he'd heard the same thing about her.

"It just didn't work out that way." Another drink of water, and although he couldn't force himself to look at her he still saw the way her shoulders came up and then pulled back. He was almost certain he saw her twirling her fork again in one hand, but he just let the white light hit the gold foil behind her and let that hold his gaze instead.

"And your... I guess son or-?"

"I'm not a father either." Again he lifted the cold edge of the glass to his lips, but this time he let himself drink almost all of it. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't be tempted to look at her through the warped glass at the bottom as he tilted his head back, letting it fall forward when he was done and picking up his dishes without making eye-contact.

"What happened to them?"

"Nothing." He took the dishes and the sauce pan and turned around to bring them to the sink. Somehow it was easier to get the words going with hot water running over his hands.

This was supposed to be a Sodom and Gommorah story, right? Which of the two kinds of sin was worse: the one where you were so overcome by lust that you'd reach out to another man, or the one where you were so devoid of grace that you'd throw your own children to the mob to save your soul?

He didn't mean to, but he thought of his grandfather and squirted too much soap into the sponge in his hand for scrubbing. What did it matter which way he chose if God had destroyed both cities in the end?

"There was no baby." She'd done the cooking so he did the cleaning, it only made sense in his mind. He'd spent all day chopping vegetables and washing plates and pans, but Feliciano almost resented how easily the red washed away just with the hot water, nevermind the suds he scrubbed across the stainless steel surface. Tomato sauce wasn't half a sticky as burnt caramel, but that thought just wound him up a little tighter. "But I don't want to lie to you, Alice, and I don't want to embarrass Lovino and everyone else when things are going just fine here without me. It's better not to talk about it."

"What's her name?" Of all the questions he couldn't answer… but what had he just said? He was convinced he heard footsteps and knew she was walking towards him, so bent himself to his task instead of turning around. Her voice was closer when she spoke again: "You told me there was someone else when you asked me to take my ring off, so at least tell me her name."

"Alice-" He rinsed the pan under the hot stream, and just as he was setting it in the rack next to him to dry her hand appeared and shut off the tap. His first reaction was to look and that was wrong, because as soon as he saw wide eyes framed by hurt and blushing with anger, he began to hate himself.

"You left me." He had, but- "You left me the day after your mother's funeral- the day after I stood next to you and held your hand while your whole family was there around us! Don't try and tell me you don't owe me an explanation if you're going to show up here and sleep in my mother's house."

"We have three dogs." Feliciano didn't know why that was the first thing that came out of his mouth, but he said it and she looked so _angry_ at the deflection that- "We can't have children, and in Germany we can't adopt or foster either, so we keep pets." There was Blackie the German Shepherd not-a-puppy-anymore that Ludwig had talked him into getting for protection right after they'd bought the house. And there was Astor the tired old Golden Retriever whose abusive story and sad eyes from a kennel had broken Feliciano's heart until Ludwig agreed to take him. He still wasn't sure if the Doberman Berlitz had been Ludwig's idea or Gilbert's, but that wasn't here or there right now.

"We own a house in Berlin and we drive two cars. My partner is an engineer who makes more money than I do and that covers the cost of the older brother I put up with in our basement." He couldn't lie about his life, because whether Lovino or his grandfather wanted him to or not it was _his life._ "The brother is a Veteran, and he's an asshole but they look out for each other." Where on earth was he supposed to go with this?

Her face told him she didn't know any more than he did. Alice had her bottom lip pulled part way between her teeth, her chin crumpled as a tiny spasm twitched the corners of her mouth and made her lips tighten and twitch. Her eyes were staring straight through him and refused to blink. She looked like she was stooping slightly, as if his words weighed too much for her to hear and yet she just stayed there like she was waiting for more. He kept his damp hands on the edge of the sink and watched her, holding his breath when she finally pulled her lips apart to speak.

"So you love her." Alice's voice was quiet, and he realized now how strange that sounded because she was supposed to be the loudest of the four of them. "And you love her more than you loved me-" Something crossed her mind and it moved like a shadow over her face, her forehead wrinkling like her chin as she took a short, sharp breath in and folded her arms tight in under her chest.

"Did..." She looked cold, and hurt, and he hated the way his gut started hurting when she looked up at him again and actually saw him standing there. "Did you even love me?"

"Alice-!" Of course he had, of course he'd wanted that life with her. "Please don't think things like that." Nevermind say them. He didn't know if she'd let him do it, but with his hands mostly dry Feliciano reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders as Alice dropped her eyes again, bowing her head so she was looking at the floor as he spoke over her. "I never wanted to hurt anyone with this. Everything came out the wrong way at the wrong time, especially the things I said to you and I-"

"Then tell me her _name_." Her voice broke on the last word and his died in the space between them. He felt the way she tensed up and then the tension snapped like a rubber band: she was crying and he felt like something had just carved out his insides and left him hollow. It should have hurt more than it did when his hands slowly slipped off her shoulders, but she shook him off and he took the numbness as a sign that he wasn't allowed to pity himself.

They just stood there like that in cold silence as she cupped her hands over her face, shaking and fighting for breath behind her palms. Feliciano made the mistake of trying to reach out and touch her again, but Alice's head snapped up and she pulled her hands down, taking two bold steps away from him with heat rising in her wet eyes and the painful flush of her cheeks.

"Don't you _dare_ say you're sorry." She hissed, and he took it. "It was bad enough to be humiliated because you didn't have the decency to tell me before setting up your whole new life with her, but if you think secrets are somehow better then lies then-" She choked on tears and he saw how mad it made her to break off, her hands flying up and scratching away the wet tracks with her sleeves. "Then you're no better than your lying brother."

"What?" Lovino? Or did she mean Carlino he- what did they have to do with-?

"At least he tells a story when he wants to cover the truth!" She covered her shout with the back of one hand, looking away from him with those tears still in her eyes. His gaze followed hers out of the kitchen and into the darkness towards the main staircase. No lights flickered on from upstairs, but that only meant she didn't want her mother or sister to come down to investigate any screaming.

"Alice-" He tried again, because he didn't know what that comment meant or why she'd say something like that out of the blue. But when he took a step towards her with one hand out asking for peace, she backed up again and then turned to storm out of the light.

"I'm going to bed."

"Wait, I-"

"Leave me alone!" She all but leapt away from him, vanishing into the dark shadows of a house she knew well enough to sprint through and find the stairs without hitting anything. Feliciano heard her feet pound the steps and knew she was gone for the night, abandoning him to his guilt and no small amount of confusion from the last things she'd said.

He waited just long enough to listen in case she slammed a door on the upper level, and when no sound came drifting down then he, too, made himself go off to bed.

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**PLOT PLOT PLOT AFOOT! Remaining typos and funny-duddy places will be edited out tomorrow probably.**

**Most of this was written in Zen Writer, which is an interesting program. Check it out if you're easily distracted, my only comment is that I really wish the "day" setting had a darker font, and saving makes me really really uncomfortable.**


	11. Cinnamon and the Old Dock

**Utopia, Good Life, What's My Name, Hands held High, The Prayer, Memories, Stupid in Love, The Hanging Tree.**

**I'm stiiiiill working on Recovery so if you read both this story and that one, don't fret too much, I just decided I was better off spending my first day off in two weeks polishing off this chapter than fighting with the middle bulk of Recovery.**

**Note: When I was planning this story the girls' names were "Valenti", and I only changed it to "Vanteli" because a tumblr friend suggested it. This is why both versions have shown up in this fic, because my hands would get confused. I've finally gone through the story and changed it to "Valenti" again, so the other name should be gone within the next 40 minutes (upload time). Never change a name you like!**

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_**The Gay Brother**_

Cinnamon and the Old Dock

Lovino left early the next morning just like he'd said, but at least he had the decency to tell Feliciano and hang around long enough for the two of them to share a quiet cup of coffee.

"Why haven't you told Chiara about me?" It wasn't the only question Feliciano really wanted to ask him, but it seemed like the only one his brother would be able, or at least willing, to answer. He didn't want advice as he sipped the hot brew in his cup, he just wanted try and figure out what he was dealing with.

"And do what? Tell her not to tell her mother or sister?" The way Lovino kept his voice down and seemed keen to hurry up and go before his wife came downstairs was troubling, but he knew better than to ask Lovino if Alice had any reason to refer to him as a liar. "Alice is one thing, but..."

Lovino finished his coffee with a gulp that probably, judging by the sound he made, burnt his throat, but Feliciano finished the thought himself: Mrs. Valenti was a gossip. And she hated him. Those two things combined would see to it that the whole town knew what kind of person he was by the end of the week, maybe sooner if she believed anyone thought the whole affair and break-down years ago had been Alice's fault.

It didn't matter how old-fashioned the thought was, it was just important for a mother to know why her daughter had been engaged for so long and then suddenly dumped.

"It's not like I left her at the altar." Feliciano grumbled, telling himself he wasn't bitter about being in the middle of so much stupid talk.

"No, but they think you left her for some German girl." Mm... "Foreign women aren't all bad though."

"You're only saying that because you would have preferred it to the truth." Damn his own ability to smile at himself, but he couldn't help it, especially not when Lovino quickly held up a hand to stop him.

"Before you say it, let me guess: in some other dimension we're probably sitting here right now saying _'this would be so much easier if you were just-'_"

"For someone who doesn't want his wife to know," Feliciano interrupted, still smiling "you're pretty comfortable saying it when she's just upstairs."

"Shut up."

Lovino left shortly after that, but his brother was probably still just pulling out through the gate when Feliciano turned around in the kitchen because he heard a soft voice behind him.

"I wanted to apologize for last night..." Alice looked tired. She wouldn't lift her eyes to look at him properly either, and that was why when he understood what she'd said, he stopped what he'd been doing at the sink and mirrored her by looking at the floor.

"I don't think that's really necessary."

"But I do." Feliciano looked up again when he heard her take a step forward, and although she wasn't much closer than she'd been a moment before, at least Alice was looking at him now, morning sunlight patterned over the white cotton skirt around her waist and the blue blouse wrapped over her shoulders. She had that determined look about her that he hadn't really seen last night: that stubborn line holding her jaw up while she made herself stand straight and not back down. She'd always been bold in the best kind of way. "You were wrong last night: things aren't _'going just fine' _here. If they were then maybe I shouldn't have been so short with you, but it's just not true."

"Why did you call my brother a liar?" And which brother had she even meant? He wanted to throw that part on too but the way Alice looked away again and bit her lip kept him quiet. One step at a time would work out better for both of them.

"It's better not to talk about it behind their backs..." Feliciano found himself holding his breath in order to keep quiet. Even if she could somehow believe something like that, he certainly didn't. Not talking about things wasn't how either of their families worked. Maybe they weren't as direct as they should have been, but- "So again: I'm sorry."

"You're sorry but you won't-" He shut himself up because it all clicked just that fast for him: she was sorry but wouldn't tell him what she'd done. It would have been hypocritical for Feliciano to push. They'd just wind up in the same argument they'd had last night except with the roles reversed. And he wasn't stupid enough to push her when Alice still had the better argument: he wouldn't even give her Ludwig's name. "We won't talk about it then, it's okay."

Maybe trading secrets would make the next few days easier. Or maybe trading secrets was the wrong way to describe it: admitting that they both had secrets was much wordier, but felt better. If they both had something to hide then neither one would try bridging the gap between them, they could just walk around the chasm instead of struggling to reach across.

"Lovino's gone for the day, are you still going down to the restaurant?" Of course, but he had to meet with Carlino first. "Are you staying for breakfast?" Did she really think Chiara would want him to do that? "I guess not."

She smiled. She laughed too but it was too short, too brief to really sink in and resonate with his memories. But she smiled and it made her face change again, brought a spark of sunshine to her eyes as her lashes fanned and wove themselves together to try and hide that glow. The dimples he'd maybe forgotten about showed themselves as she looked askance with her smile to hide it, and they were what proved it was genuine: when she faked a smile, Alice's cheeks were always tight and hollow. When it was real, an angel pinched them so you could see it.

"I'll try and tell her not to be so hard on you."

"Ah- please don't bother her on my behalf." It was close to what he'd said last night to his brother. "I can handle it for a few more days, really. I'm just happy you're willing to talk to me."

He didn't like the way her smile suddenly faltered when he said that, swallowing hard trying to figure out what he'd done to make the full curves of her face thin out slightly. It made him feel suddenly put on the spot, like he had to answer for something he hadn't known he'd done wrong. Maybe she wasn't quite as happy to talk to him as he'd almost believed.

"I, uh- I should get going."

"Mm. Don't work yourself too hard." Right...

Leaving the house behind was just as relieving, if not moreso than the day before. Lovino had apparently given Carlino the same stern talking-to about having to talk to him, so he knew where to meet his little brother and what time he needed to get there. Feliciano could easily have walked anywhere in the village to meet him, but chose to drive instead- why else had he rented the white, slightly dinged and beaten convertable? To look at it?

He had just enough time between sneaking out past Lovino's wife and going down to the riverbank to find breakfast. He went to the deli that had intimidated and frightened him away yesterday, somehow energized by the fact that his grandparents, and therefore most of their neighbours, knew that he was back and clearly deemed unwelcome. Feliciano wasn't bold enough to traipse around the piazza in the middle of the village, but the deli on the hill? He could manage that.

It was almost worth it to go just to see the same shopkeeper whose shadow had nearly given him a heart attack yesterday. They shook hands, laughed about something, and Feliciano accepted a cigarette when it was offered, lighting two of them over the counter. There were laws, but... well, those were just rules and regulations on some paper somewhere, and once his lungs adjusted to the thick weight of the smoke Feliciano intentionally looked down. He blew grey down at his feet because he was a bold coward: God forbid he smoke when he had to go home at night to his partner, but when he was hundreds of miles away he liked the idea of making Ludwig squirm if he got back reeking of cigarettes.

There was nothing about the four little pies made with candied nuts and a lot of cinnamon that should have made him so bold. It was his childhood wrapped in pastry dough and one of the only ways he could even pretend to tolerate the spice, but it made his day brighten up and took away the bitterness of two bad run-ins with his ex.

But cinnamon. The spice was too thick and rough. Too hot on the back of his throat. Feliciano hated few things but that grainy, sandy residue of cinnamon on his tongue was probably one of them. With a small paper cup of espresso he finished the first cake himself like a guilty secret in the car and forced himself to drive and leave the rest alone. Like water running down a hillside, people and products always took the easiest path from the heights of the village down to the river.

In March it was already beginning to feel redundant to add that the heat was picking up. The sun flashed and blue sky looked on over red rooftops, the green trees yellowing under the gold light. Feliciano followed the ebb and curve of the streets, avoiding the piazza despite how far out of his way the detour took him. The stone neighbourhoods quickly faded into fruit groves and orchards on the east side of the village, and he just kept moving down and felt the temperature oblige him by slowly giving up its anger. Of course, for every point of heat the approaching river took away, it tossed in a friendly three for humidity.

The river running past their village was just a lazy arm of another, stronger flow through the mountains. It just swung out around their little town like an elbow to hold them close against the land. The car kept going until Feliciano pulled it down to drive along the grey-blue band of water, passing old groves and looking out across the river to fallow fields.

He knew exactly where he was going and found the turn by relying as much on memory as from the oft-vandalized wooden post that, in theory, was meant to hold a sign telling swimmers and fishermen which way to go to find the small dock nestled on the riverbank. Feliciano now knew from Lovino that shallow river-boats filled with tourists appeared there on occasion, but it was still too early in the season to expect them. And as for the fishermen, well, when was it not the season for fishing?

Turning at the post when it appeared, Feliciano pulled over and shut off the engine, quickly grabbing the paper bag holding the rest of breakfast as he stuffed the keys in his pocket and climbed out. He was parked under the shade of several tall trees, the thin copse hiding the dock as the gravel lane bent and twisted around out of sight.

He could smell the water as he walked over the gravel, listening to it crunch and crackle underfoot. Despite the humidity the air itself occasionally built up into a breeze to cool him, the moist smell of wet stones and thick reeds playing with childhood memories of racing his brothers down this path, along the wooden dock he could just see coming into view, and leaping off the far end into the cold water.

There were other swimming holes and calmer streams for a quick dunking, but the dock was where grandma could bring her knitting and their uncle could fish, or Mama would leave the three of them there with a packed lunch while she ran errands in the summer. Glancing to his left as he came out from under the trees, he saw the same old stone bench where they'd left shoes and towels, and the small patch of grass still as yellow and no doubt as prickly as he ever remembered.

Feliciano was just setting one foot down on the wooden planks of the dock when he heard fast

foot-falls behind him. When he turned to look, he watched a familiar someone come tearing down the path he'd just slowly walked, a grey sweater-jacket on over his brother's shoulders as Carlino slowed down just enough to scan and notice him, then continued jogging up to the dock.

"Hey, slow down," Feliciano laughed, walking back a few paces so they reached each other sooner. He brought one arm up and his brother stumbled to a stop before immediately giving him a hug. "You'll wear yourself out before work. Did you walk all the way here?"

"I ran," Carlino gasped, pulling back and setting his hands on his knees, bowing forward as he kept panting trying to catch his breath. "I'm late... sorry... mad grandpa..." Feliciano felt his smile hit the dock.

"If he didn't want you to come then you could have stayed home." He knew before he finished the thought that his brother wouldn't want to hear something like that, but Feliciano held out a hand to quiet him when Carlino's head snapped up. "I'm only here for a week and you live in his house. Don't do crazy things."

"It's not crazy to want to see you!" His brother's voice hit a high pitch and it made them both pause. As much as one small part of Feliciano suddenly jumped at the idea of teasing him for the sound, it was overwhelmed by the way his brother was too old for silly voice-breaks, and just how hurt he already looked. "You're my brother, it's not stupid..."

"Stupid and crazy are two different things." Feliciano tapped his brother's shoulder until Carlino stood up again properly, pulling him into another hug and making sure this one was more than just a quick hello. It was still strange to think of his little brother as someone just as tall as he was, but it hurt too when he felt Carlino drop his face against his shoulder and stay like that, hiding and pulling comfort the way he had when he was small.

"Cheer up, it's alright." He murmured, brushing a hand through his brother's light auburn hair, the colour they normally shared but that the Italian sun had slowly bleached. "Did you eat breakfast before coming here?"

"No..."

"Then you're in luck." Clapping Carlino on the back, he made them pull apart before Feliciano turned and walked him down the dock. The whole structure clunked and shifted worryingly underfoot, but it had done that since they were kids. Feliciano shook the paper bag he was still holding and flashed a smile before he handed it over. The next order of business was sitting down and pulling off his shoes and socks quickly so he could let his feet hang over the edge of the platform and dip into the cold water. "I know you guys can have these any time you want, but it's been years..."

"There're only three in here."

"I had one in the car, please forgive me?" His plea finally convinced the younger man to smile and sit down next to him, Carlino pulling one of the treats out and nibbling on the corner. When he handed the bag back Feliciano didn't even hesitate before taking a big bite out of his second one.

"I'll never get it," Carlino complained, speaking around pastry flakes and sweet nuts. "You hate cinnamon."

"This isn't cinnamon, it's sugar that looks like cinnamon."

"And tastes like it, and smells like-"

"Do you want to go swimming this morning? I think it sounds like you do." He gave his brother a heavy smack on the shoulder so he knew exactly what Feliciano meant, and the childish glare he got back was plenty worth it. Because yes: he would push his little brother into the river if provoked. It was a right Lovino had lorded over both of them as children and Feliciano was always happy to exploit the _'I can because I'm older/Not my fault because I'm younger'_ argument whenever possible.

Lovino always got to stay up late and sit in the front seat. Carlino always got the last slice of cake and the biggest Christmas gift. So Feliciano never got in trouble for _anything: _it felt fair to him.

"...It's been years since you left home." It took him a moment before he really heard that murmur over the quiet splash of the water against the dock. "Why does everyone hate you?" Feliciano wasn't quite ready for the question, but he supposed that was his fault for misreading the steady silence. The sweetness in his mouth quickly became overwhelming, and for a moment he looked down at the river water and wondered if it was clean enough to drink. His toes were barely skimming the surface though, so he just made himself sit there, chew, and quickly swallowed.

Feliciano looked up at the sky instead of answering and took a deep breath, leaning one way and then the other on how to begin.

"I can't defend you if I don't know what you did." If that was Carlino's stance then actually that made things easier for him. "It's really hard."

"There's nothing to defend, really." From several hundred miles away Feliciano almost swore he felt Ludwig breathing angrily down his neck, but he gave himself a shake and blamed it on the damp air wrapped around them. He stared down at the dark water below the dock and shrugged, part of his breakfast flaking off into the steady current. "I learned a lot of things about myself when I went away to Germany, but instead of fighting off and running away from a lot of it, I just embraced it instead."

"What, like drugs or something?" Would a drug analogy work here? Feliciano started squinting across the water to where the sun was hitting the surface, rejecting the idea: if he kept chaffing against the knocked-up girlfriend story then what would make drug addiction a better cover?

"It's analogous, but it isn't drugs, no." This conversation wasn't going how he'd hoped, but he hadn't really planned what he was going to say either. Stupid Lovino, setting this up without giving him any time to prepare!

"Analogous?"

"I did cheat on Alice." And that... saying those words did leave a very bitter taste in his mouth. Feliciano hated admitting it, hated branding himself an adulterer or a cheater when it felt so wrong to mark himself like that. "We were engaged and I became involved with someone else while I was away. I mean, we'd been apart for a long time, but we were still _engaged_..." He'd proposed, he'd bought a ring, he'd given the ring to her and asked her to wear it.

"Was Alice at the funeral?" Feliciano picked his gaze up out of the water and looked at his brother again. Carlino had a vacant look on his face, elbows on his knees and doubled over almost the same way Feliciano was. But to answer his question: yes, she'd been there. Dressed in black with a diamond ring on her finger...

"I broke the engagement after that, at the house." He meant their grandparents' house, the place where their whole family had lived together before Feliciano had gone to college and Lovino had moved out to live with his wife. He was almost positive their uncles still lived there to this day.

"Because you had a fight with her mother, right?" He couldn't even remember who he'd yelled at, couldn't think anymore about who had made him so mad about saying awful things about a wedding right after a funeral. "There was a lot of yelling, I could hear it upstairs."

"The yelling was after." Breathing the words out slowly, he closed his eyes and rubbed one hand back and forth over his forehead. They were skirting the issue but Feliciano couldn't help but hope that they'd circle back around to it. The very thought of mentioning _'him'_ or _'he'_ or _'gay'_ or any other words that would help things click was starting to make him sweat. He'd only done this once before and now they were talking about just how badly that had gone. "You were asleep."

"No, Lovino and I were talking upstairs- you were there too but then you left because Mrs. Valenti had something to say." Then Feliciano'd argued with her- had it really been Alice's mother? He remembered it so differently because he couldn't remember it at all. He'd gone downstairs after that, found Alice, and told her to take the ring off...

"I said I'd explain things the day after," he murmured, trying to tell himself he really couldn't remember, but he did. "And Lovino came down after their family left- you weren't asleep?"

They looked at each other as Carlino straightened up, shaking his head no and dragging a hand back through his hair. He had his legs dangling the way Feliciano's were and pulled them up, scooting back so he could lay down on the hard, dusty planks with his hands behind his head. Getting dirty wasn't appealing, and neither was laying down, so Feliciano just pulled his feet up so they would dry after being doused in the cold river water. He didn't mind the chill in them as he pulled his socks back on slowly.

"I was being stupid." Carlino... "I wanted you both there, or did you forget?" That casual pose on his back was misleading because those last four words came out sharply. Feliciano didn't like the nervous twinge that hit him when he realized how roughly his brother was breathing. "I bet you did forget, you didn't even come back upstairs. I didn't see you again after that."

"I didn't mean to-"

"From Mama's funeral until you came down the hill in that car with Lovino: that's how long I've had to wait to see you again." No, please don't let things turn out like this- he couldn't handle this kind of anger again. "So what the hell happened?" His brother sat up quickly and Feliciano froze with his fingers wound around his shoe-laces.

"I-"

"Why did you leave?" He- Carlino's eyes flashed once when he balked at the question, and he watched the younger man clench his teeth. "It wasn't even worth it to tell me- you didn't even bother packing because your suitcase was still in my room after you were gone!"

They both stood up and Feliciano wasn't taller anymore, they were right at eye level and he could feel his lungs burning, his ears ringing because it was happening again. He was going to say it and there was going to be screaming and shouting all over again.

"What? So I killed our mother and I wasn't even worth telling off for-" Their mother was dead and just by envoking her Feliciano's focus snapped.

"For God's sake, Carlino you were sixteen it wasn't your fault!" How anyone let him get away with still saying something like that was beyond him.

"The car went right over the guard-rail!"

"In the rain! At night!" On a bad stretch of road that she shouldn't have made him drive. "So thank God one of you actually survived it!" Feliciano could have gone further but he didn't, he just walked right up to Carlino where there were tears slowly overwhelming his green eyes. He took his brother's face between both hands and brushed his thumbs under those eyes, catching the drops as they started to fall free. When he leaned in Feliciano moved his hands and wrapped him up tight in another hug, closing his eyes when he felt his brother crumble a little and completely fall against him with both hands clutching his back.

"It wasn't because of you," he hushed, squeezing tighter when he heard a weak, angry sob hiccup against his shoulder. "I didn't leave because of you, and I didn't fail to say goodbye because I was angry, and I didn't stay away because of anything you did or said." Now, he could do it now: "I didn't forget, Carlino," breathe, "I'm-"

"Then why were you gonna hurt me?" _Ga-haa_-what?

"What?" Everything got very loud all of a sudden. Feliciano opened his eyes and he could hear the water lapping at the dock, the boards shifting under their feet as a bird trilled somewhere high in the treetops. His little brother was very, very warm in his arms, breaths wheezing from his lungs as he pressed his face a little closer against Feliciano's shoulder. He felt stuck like that too, arms clasped around Carlino and tucked under his shoulders to hold him tight, but the embrace suddenly lacked intimacy.

"It's what they said!"

"Who said?" And why? Why? "I'd never hurt you, you know that."

"I know! And they wouldn't tell me anything-" Who? "Everybody!"

That didn't make any sense. Of all the things to think about right after he'd left home for the last time, worrying that Feliciano'd turn around and hit his little brother for no reason was bizarre.

"Talk to me." He rubbed one hand up and down Carlino's back, letting him tuck his face further down against Feliciano's neck.

"Uncle Mario started it." Okay, but what had happened? "He just came storming in that night and pulled my shirt off," that was... "everyone was yelling at Lovino for leaving me alone with you, Grandma was crying about a doctor, and-" wait.

"Wait." No.

Feliciano dropped the hug and grabbed his brother's arms, he didn't push him off, but that was only because the younger one suddenly clung to him. He found himself staring down at the boards below their feet, eyes travelling slow and half-blind to the shore where the stone bench sat and the yellow grass grew.

"You were sixteen..." He whispered, forcing his thoughts to grind themselves to a halt. That couldn't be what this was.

"Feliciano?"

"You were only sixteen." Definitely not a child but not much of a man either, at that age. Carlino had been ordered to stay in bed after the accident and had only left the house for their mother's funeral, nothing else. Stitches along his scalp over his left ear, one arm in a brace after snapping his collar bone, if it had been Carlino's leg instead of his arm then he might not have made it back up to the road where a passing driver had seen him and stopped...

Feliciano hugged him again just thinking about it, scaring himself when he thought about just how close their family really had come to losing a grandson along with a daughter in one night.

But Carlino hadn't been a child and he hadn't been a man, he'd still been just a boy. The youngest brother had been so scared and upset that the elder two had agreed, without even questioning it, to share the bed with him like when they'd all been little. They'd slept right next to each other in their old room with Lovino complaining that the bed was too small and Feliciano fussing about not having enough blankets. The youngest sibling had stayed sandwiched between the two of them where he could be warm and feel safe, healing slowly and trying to forget that cold night in the rain.

It had been two men and a boy in one bed. But, if at any point Lovino had needed to leave for something, then it had only been one boy and one-

"...Are you crying?"

"No..." They wouldn't think something like that about him. They wouldn't go that far. "No I'm-" Feliciano couldn't see anymore because he'd pinched his eyes shut, squeezing them tight and holding his brother like he was the one about to fall over now. His throat felt thick and heavy, his lungs sore when he realized he didn't trust himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't calm down and he couldn't make himself stop thinking. There was a different kind of pain leeching into his shoulders and back, cold and crippling as he realized just how deep their family's venom had sunk. "I'm okay. I'm really," really, not okay...

"You know something." Of course he did, but now Feliciano also knew far too much. "Why won't you just tell me? I have a right to know, I should-"

"I know." It was so hard to bite his lip and try to keep the terrible sounds at bay. Feliciano gave him another tight squeeze and blinked quickly, trying to control the tears already dripping free. "I know you do, I know you're right, but-"

They had to let go again and his little brother almost had his crying completely under control. It was Feliciano who had to touch his own eyes again and again, brushing tears off with his fingers and taking short, rough breaths through the nose so he wouldn't scream or wail from the pain. If he let himself fall on his knees he knew he wouldn't get up again, so he forced himself to put on a smile and wore it boldly.

"But what?" It really wasn't fair for his brother to look so offended. Just because Carlino was right didn't mean... it didn't mean anything.

Just like being a good brother didn't mean anything. For all his faults as a person Feliciano had always told himself he was a good middle brother because he'd always been ready to support the older one and to look after the younger one. Yes there had been fighting and yes there had been teasing. There had been indian burns and bloody mouths, tattle-tailing and vengeful lying, there had been races he wouldn't pretend to lose to a brother half his size and secrets he'd taken straight to their mother without hesitation. But when it mattered Feliciano had been a good brother. And he'd been a good son. And he'd been a good nephew and grandson and student and everything else he was supposed to be.

But he was also a coward.

"You're right, Carlino, you're completely right, but-" He was a coward and he was crying again and couldn't swallow or smile his way around it. "But if I tell you then I can't un-tell you, and you're too smart for me to pretend you won't figure out the rest of it from there."

And if Carlino figured it out then he would fight someone. He was almost as angry as Lovino had said, and if Feliciano told him what he wanted to know then who was to say Carlino wouldn't act on it? In fact, the only thing stopping Feliciano himself from acting out was his brother's presence on the dock.

His brother.

His little brother.

His _baby_ brother.

And someone in their family had thought, and had then gone so far as to strip him and _check_, to see if Feliciano, their _son_, had hurt him.

Not hurt him with a punch, or a scream, or even a piece of broken glass. But with a touch, or some kind of lust, when they were alone in that bed together. Because the gay brother had been in town for their mother's funeral and that somehow had put the youngest brother in danger: at their mother's _funeral._

Just by envoking the memory of her like that again, Feliciano felt himself stop crying and his smile cracked right down the middle. When he finally came back to focus on the path that would take him from the dock back up to where his car was waiting, he saw Carlino standing there in front of him, upset with puffy green eyes leaking frustrated tears, arms bundled up tight around himself with his hands pinned to his sides. He was twisting over himself but not moving, beginning to cry again and giving him such an angry, hurting glare that Feliciano almost regretted refusing to give him the explanation they'd come here for.

"Where's Uncle Mario?" His voice cracked just like his face but he didn't try to clear his throat or repeat himself.

"Like I should tell you after what you just said to me." Fine. Fair enough, but Feliciano wasn't playing around right now and he didn't _need_ Carlino to answer him.

"Either you tell me and we drive there, or I leave you here and you run to catch up."

Now Feliciano saw it, the flash of something volatile in their brother's eyes that Lovino had warned him about. The anger of a young man being treated like a small child because he was still just a boy and there was nothing his little brother could do to change that. He would always be six years younger, he would always be that tiny red-haired bundle Mama showed him and Lovino in the same yellow room with the same stale smell and the rolls and rolls of white plastic tape...

"When did you become the better liar?" It hurt to hear that voice hiss at him, but not as much as he knew it could have. "Is it because you don't actually tell lies like Lovino: so you just stand there and don't say anything?"

"Don't talk about him like that," Feliciano warned. He was trying to work out in his sluggish mind whether it was better to try going by the restaurant first or going straight to the house on the edge of the piazza.

"Or what? You'll go meet up in Berlin like you do every two months and talk about me over coffee and wine?" Where was he coming up with this stuff? Two months? "If that's the only way to get your attention then _go for it!_"

"What the hell are you talking about _now?_"

"I'm talking about three years without you so much as sending a card back with him for me!" Oh don't even-

"Get in the car." Feliciano didn't know if he was shouting or just raising his voice, he couldn't tell from under all the pain and anger and overwhelming frustration: he just started walking. "Don't argue with me: I said get in the car! If I have to kick down grandpa's door to find Mario then I will, but we're not done talking about this!"

"Grandpa's house-?" Felicaino felt himself stomping down the dock and then kept going when he hit the gravel, too furious from everything going on to stop himself or slow down when his brother's footsteps started following him. "You wouldn't even go say hello to them when you showed up and now-?"

"Just get in the car!" This fight with the family was his and he was not going to drag his little brother into it. Feliciano had the car-keys in his hand and nearly broke into a jog when he saw the car come back into view.

"Mario isn't even at the house: Lovino's in town so he's down at the restau-"

"_GET. IN. THE CAR."_

And if older Uncle Mario had the guts to call him a child-molester to his face, then the next time Feliciano spoke to Ludwig it would be from an Italian prison.

* * *

**WHY IS THIS CHAPTER SO LONG?**

**SEBORGA WHY DID YOU NOT SAY THE THING YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO?**

**I MEAN IT WORKS OUT but now Feli's pissed I mean he is so mad right now. This is the lovely thing about developing too much backstory: they were supposed to talk mostly about their mother and Lovino and instead the uncle stuff came up instead. I love this fic *kiss-kiss-smooch***


	12. Reputations and Regrets

**My December, Leave Out All The Rest, In Pieces, Just A Dream, The Hanging Tree, Will You Be There.**

**I'm a bad author but this chapter was easy to get done and Recovery's was not. I have 5/8 scenes finished on that though.**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Reputations and Regrets

They couldn't really remember what had been in there.

Plates? Bowls?

It must have been something fragile.

Something sharp.

* * *

It wasn't a long drive from the river to The Pinwheel, not compared to, say, Feliciano's daily commute from his neighbourhood downtown to the museum.

And just like that morning drive and transit adventure, it went a lot faster if he ignored the speed limit.

"You aren't driving yet?" He asked his passenger, because he refused to finish the drive in silence and couldn't stand the way his little brother was digging his nails into the seat cushion next to him.

"No."

"You should." He changed gears and pressed down a little further on the gas pedal, feeling the engine respond properly as he shifted his weight on the clutch and let the car continue forward. Feliciano knew the next hill and rode down it quickly, toes hovering over the brake without actually touching it. "Get Lovino to show you."

"No thanks." Carlino's discomfort with the speed and handling of the car didn't stop the hiss in his words, and Feliciano glanced at him briefly before putting his attention back on the road and the flashing sunlight.

"You two see each other every day, don't you?" They didn't know how good they had it. "It's starting to sound like you don't talk."

"About work? Of course we do." The town was hurrying by as the road searched for the highway, winding around fields and out-buildings like the creeks that scurried down to the river they were leaving behind. "But you're the one he talks family with."

"He told me you finished school and that grandpa's heart has been giving him trouble, that's about all I know." Feliciano nearly dropped the wedding bomb but thought better of it. Carlino had looked wounded enough that day when Feliciano had asked when their brother had gotten married, he didn't want to bring it up again.

"Then what else do you talk about on your visits?" Again he heard that little hiss, and he ended up tapping the brakes trying to control his speed through several bends in the lane.

"What visits?" Feliciano put the question to him as soon as the road evened out again, giving him a hard look for as long as he could hold it before having to keep his attention on where they were going. Carlino didn't meet his stare, he was just sitting there with his arms folded tight over his chest and one foot up on the dashboard. "Carlino I haven't seen him since October, what visits?"

Neither of them had really calmed down yet, not completely, and when Feliciano chanced another look his brother's eyes were going red around the rims again, his whole face collapsing under his sun-bleached hair as he tried not to shed more tears.

"I'm not telling you," his brother grunted, "until you tell me what the hell is going on." Feliciano nearly slammed the brake, or the accelerator- whichever one his foot was resting over. He almost did it but a crash would not make things go any better and he just put his attention back on the road.

"Fair enough." But just because he said it didn't mean he wasn't getting fed up with walking around and avoiding issues.

When the refurbished cantina appeared through the light with its dry waterwheel and hedged garden, both of them felt better. Carlino sat up properly and Feliciano made the accelerator needle dance before finally hitting the brakes and bringing the car to a full, fast stop on the side of the road. He barely even remembered to pull the keys out of the ignition before getting out, leaving the doors unlocked because it wouldn't make much difference to a convertible.

The road was a little higher than the restaurant, and with Feliciano leading he quickly took the several half-buried stone steps down and bypassed the front door completely. There was a never-locked gate that led into the vegetable garden behind the lemon tree, and that just squealed once as he pulled it open and stormed inside.

The Pinwheel was already open, or maybe they'd only just started service, but Feliciano didn't care. He pushed his way into the kitchen from that open door and saw the line-cook and chef from yesterday. Without asking if they knew where their boss was he went straight out through the swinging door into the front of house.

The restaurant was open but she was quiet and nearly empty. He actually heard the chef in the kitchen try to get Carlino's attention by calling his name, but his brother was still right behind him as Feliciano scanned the red tile and white stucco'd interior of the restaurant looking for the person he wanted.

Vargas men were not known for being tall, but they were loud and usually running around doing something. It wasn't hard with only three tables holding guests to find the man in charge for the day. Mario Vargas had a solid frame under a fine black sports-coat, his dark, tousled hair going thin right on top and blushed with the red highlights that Feliciano and Carlino had from their mother. He was shorter than Feliciano and for some reason that surprised him, only a few inches making a sharp impact as he marched across the tiled floor and pools of yellow sunlight.

His uncle's back was turned on him and he was speaking to a set of patrons seated at one of their tables by a window looking out into the garden. The white table cloth bounced the light back up on clear water and wine glasses, silver cutlery and white china plates, and for one brief moment Feliciano wondered how much noise it would cause if he just shoved the other man into the display.

Somehow he resisted, and the hand he reached out with only touched his uncle on the shoulder, interrupting a verbose laugh and poorly handled English words. His other hand was a fist and if he brought it up from his side he knew he'd use it. Short jab, fast, he'd keep his wrist straight and plow his knuckles right into the man's mouth.

It was better that Carlino quickly grabbed his elbow, like he could feel how angry Feliciano was and knew he'd do something terrible if his temper ran wild.

"Uncle." Oh, that was not the name he wanted to use right now.

"Ah-" But heavy grey eyes only flashed up at him for a moment before they suddenly dropped back down to the guests Feliciano hadn't even looked at. He barely saw his uncle's straight nose or the way his lips were going thin like his hair, he just went back to exactly what he'd been doing while reaching one arm out and giving Feliciano a heavy smack on the back. Again, he tried speaking English:_ "And this! This! My nephew!"_

The language was fast and broken, and as much as his jaw was already hurting from locking his teeth together, Feliciano actually looked at the table and realized he was only hearing more half-English: _"I see!", "Yes!", "Good!"_, and so on. He was staring at a table with a young blond couple dressed in tourist white and clearly as entertained by the miming game as they were with the fact that they were vacationing in Italy.

_"Deutch?"_ What?

_"You speak German?"_ Oh shit- the strange sounds needed a moment to click before he felt his brain reset to the foreign language, a habit that served him well when in Germany, but right now-

"_Ja_- no!" Not right now!

"_Yes_," Mario pressed, his uncle still holding that arm around him despite how much Feliciano wanted to throw it off. Carlino's touch had faded and he was left staring at the man trying to make him play translator. "You take their orders quickly and then we'll say hello in the back, it's good to see you home again."

Liar.

His uncle reached around to pat his shoulder like he was considering a proper hug, then started to slip away between Feliciano and the table, flashing a smile as he went until Feliciano caught his arm and leaned down to hiss by his ear:

"I need to speak with you right now, first." And the look he got back was something straight out of his childhood, a fast, judging stare with both dark eyebrows quickly rising over his flat brow, pushing wrinkles up against his vanishing hairline. The effect was sudden and he didn't know how it worked, but it put a muzzle on his rage without actually calming it.

"Finish with our guests first." No-nonsense and business driven, that was Uncle Mario. It wasn't even necessarily about the bottom line either, but the reputation: the pride that went into running a place like this. "Then come meet me in the _back_ office."

Something in that low voice sounded like a question, but it wasn't a code. There was no _'yes I know what this is'_ recognition, no sudden realization that chilled or roused the other man's temper. It was confusion and that, maybe, was what calmed Feliciano just enough to let go of his arm and let his uncle quickly march off towards the kitchen. When he called Carlino to come after him Feliciano's brother looked torn, glancing first at him and then at the guests still sitting patiently at their table. But Carlino just swallowed hard and nodded his head without a word towards the table, choking on air for a moment before he fled the same way their uncle had gone.

"_So you_..." German was a strange, unfamiliar sound in his ears as he covered his face with his hands for a moment, rubbing at the frustration and stress as he told himself to smile like a fool and let his thoughts and mouth switch over to the other language. _"What can you recommend? My wife and I wanted to try something new..."_

Feliciano put on his best paper smile and did not tell Lovino's guests to go fuck themselves.

* * *

"Lutz."

Not again.

_"Lutz."_

"What?" Ludwig looked up from his desk in the tiny portable that housed his on-site office. Suffice it to say he wasn't exactly impressed with Gilbert standing there wearing a visitor's pass and a borrowed hard-hat, but the younger brother swallowed his stress and sat up in his chair, annoyed and not about to fight it.

"It's Friday."

"Yes, Gilbert, I know." Meaning it had been four days since Feliciano had walked out on him, Ludwig didn't need the reminder.

"It's Friday and you're going out tonight." No he was not. "Yes you are and I'm paying."

Ludwig stopped what he was doing with his laptop and slid his reading glasses off with a huff, looking up at his older brother where Gilbert was still leaning casually in the open doorway, a black hoodie on and his hands lost in the kangaroo pouch stitched on the front. His jeans were ratty looking around the ankles and he had one foot hooked over the other. He looked a little bit like an over-grown teenager standing there, but Ludwig was at least willing to hear him out.

"Paying for what?"

"Dinner and drinks." There was food and beer back at the house. "Yeah well I can't cook, you won't, and don't even lie and say you've had lunch today because this is your lunch break and you're still working."

"I have a lot of business to catch up on." He lied, not even backing down when Gilbert gave him a criticising look and stepped properly into the portable, knocking the door with one ankle before pushing it shut. With the distant hum of machinery and steady work locked out, he watched his brother stand there for a few more moments with that blue beaten helmet over his pale hair, and a sorry kind of expression on his thin face. "What?"

"He'll be back by Tuesday."

"He _left _until Tuesday." Ludwig snapped the words back before he meant to, frustrated with himself as he scooted his chair closer to his desk and started reaching for the blue-prints and technical drafts in front of him. He didn't know what he circled with the pencil he found behind his ear, but he made sure he didn't mark the pages in ink. Anything to look busy.

"Ludwig." And then he gave up the charade, because he knew what it meant when Gilbert switched from Lutz to Ludwig. He hadn't needed a mother to teach him the weight of full names. "You can't play the pissy-silent-game with a guy who's a hundred miles away chilling out in Southern Italy. Are you gonna stay this pissed off when he comes home?" Hmph.

"You mean _if _he-"

"_Ludwig_." He hadn't needed a father to teach him either. "Cut it out. You seriously need to just blow off some steam and it's Friday fucking night." Gilbert was really pushing this, and although he'd hinted a couple of times that they should go out for drinks while Feliciano was away, he was being a lot more forceful about it this time.

Ludwig looked at his brother again and held out one hand. The way Gilbert's face seemed to shrivel and the older brother dropped his eyes said the rest.

"You didn't come here in the middle of the day to lecture me," because Ludwig and Gilbert had agreed a long time ago that on days like this, the older brother could come to him in the shower if he had to. "Hand it over."

"... 'm short fifty." Ludwig didn't care, he just watched the tables twist and turn between them until Gilbert stepped forward like a guilty child and pulled a rumpled white envelope out of his sweater pocket. Ludwig took the soft paper and quickly opened it, finding the small pay-stub inserted by Gilbert's sometimes-boss down at the warehouse where he found irregular work moving boxes and shuffling inventory. He checked the hours and the total, multiplying in his head before reaching in and pulling out the rainbow of Euro notes resting inside.

He started counting and yes, Gilbert was short by fifty.

"I'll take this to the bank tomorrow and put it in the account." The account that was really one of Ludwig's so that Gilbert himself couldn't get at it. He paid taxes in his name, of course: Ludwig filed them for him whether he made one thousand or ten in a year. It wasn't something they talked about any more than they had to: Feliciano never asked how Ludwig paid his half of the expenses and still had money to take them both out to dinner, or purchase a new suit, or god-forbid take his car in for repairs after what Lovino had done to it.

"Take two hundred out for tonight and deposit the rest today." When Gilbert worked, which wasn't steady but could have been enough for him to live on his own if he tried, the money came to Ludwig and went straight into that restricted account. It collected interest, it was added to by the pension given to him by the military every month for his share of the rent and Feliciano's expensive taste in wine. It was protected by a mountain of paperwork that both brothers had signed and initialed until their hands wore out, certified by lawyers and watched over by an accountant.

"What did you lose the fifty on?" With all of those precautions it hadn't made much sense to ask if that hidden money from earlier in the week had been Gilbert's, but Ludwig had been scared. If Gilbert couldn't be counted on to bring his entire paycheque so it could be deposited and kept safe from temptation, then how would Ludwig have handled that?

A stupid habit picked up in the army.

A habit that became a compulsion after poker-buddies and dice-throwers were gunned down on a moonlit desert road.

"I'll tell you if you go drinking with me." Gilbert wasn't quite as good at smiling through stress as Feliciano was, but he sure did try it as he stood there on the other side of the desk. It was better for him to suggest a trade than a bet. "Straight bar, lots of chicks: no temptation on your end."

"...We eat out where I want first." Ludwig looked down at the bundle of money in his hands again, wondering if it might not have been a better idea to split the cost instead of letting Gilbert treat him.

"And I'll carry you on my back when you're too piss-drunk to walk."

Ludwig didn't mean to laugh at the stupid joke, and he didn't really laugh: he just grinned a little bit and felt himself chuckle. But he also counted out a hundred euros again from the bundle in his hands and put the rest of the bills back in the creased white envelope in front of him, quickly marking the new total on the outside so he'd know when he went to the bank how much was inside. They'd split the night fifty-fifty.

It wasn't as if his partner hadn't spent twice as much just_ getting_ to Italy...

* * *

Work had that awful way of distracting and overwhelming someone until they didn't know which direction they were supposed to be running in.

Working with people, if you were a social kind of person the way Feliciano knew he was, just increased those effects. On a normal day back in Berlin he would chatter mindlessly to himself or anyone unfortunate enough to stand too close to him after too long kept silent and focused on his work. He'd grown up around people, he _needed_ people.

Feliciano was worse than the dogs: he needed Ludwig to take him out or let him just run wild with friends for a night out, or he would legitimately start to lose his mind. He'd picked up German faster than the handful of other foreign students in his exchange program because he couldn't stand not being able to talk and communicate, even if it was about the simplest things like how everyone liked their coffee made up in the morning.

But it wasn't working like that today. It could have, and maybe it even should have, but Feliciano wouldn't let it.

He couldn't walk away from tourists because his family's business relied just as much on good food as it did on good service. Tourists wanted to be placed on a pedestal and be pampered and they paid good money for that kind of treatment. So when they didn't get it they made sure anyone with ears knew just how disappointed and upset they were about that time they had lunch at that little Italian cantina with the waterwheel outside Rieti.

He would not sink his brother because he was furious with their uncle, he absolutely refused to do it. But in the same breath he forbade himself from taking any longer than was strictly necessary with anyone who tried getting his attention.

He went from the first table to being drawn over to the second one before he could properly set a course for the kitchen. After that he had one of Lovino's waitresses pinning a name-tag to his jacket and putting a menu in his hand with the day's specials and a chart showing which table had what number. He was called back to the first table by a problem with an entrée and an obnoxious request that he hold the happy couple's camera and take a picture of them, chaffing when the gentleman tried striking up a conversation about where in Germany Feliciano had picked up the language.

"_Berlin_." He did not say he'd been a student there, he did not say he still lived there, he did not offer anything at all that would make the conversation last. He just smiled through his clenched teeth and made himself sound happy. "_It's a lovely city, horrible weather, lots of dogs_."

_Escape!_

His smile was gone by the time he was half-way to the kitchen door, and that was probably what warned away the same waitress who had a question about something- she actually stepped back to stay out of his path. If he'd been a little more in control he might have felt bad for letting everything inside work its way completely to the outside, but he just wasn't so he just didn't.

Carlino wasn't in the kitchen and the staff were already getting comfortably into their groove, so Feliciano kept going past them and ducked by the closet where the broom and dustpan he'd used yesterday had been put away. The only thing beyond the closet was a close, dim hallway only a few paces long that ended in the staff washroom and the cramped little shoebox three generations of the Vargas family had called their office.

_"What the hell is__** wrong**__ with this family!?"_ He heard Carlino's voice break the rhythm of the restaurant as he placed one hand on the door, pausing before taking another breath and quickly twisting the knob to let himself in.

"_Carlo-_"

"First I have to put up with grandpa's bullshit and Lovino's stupid lies," the first thing Feliciano saw was the ugly white plaster that made the room feel absolutely claustrophobic, hedged with cardboard boxes and stacks of white paper. "And now both you and him in one day tell me the exact same fucking thing!" The next thing he saw was the way Carlino was standing up and bellowing at the man sitting stunned behind the desk. Their uncles' hands were caught half-way between gestures and just hung there, listening to his nephew completely lose his temper until Feliciano stepped in to put a stop to it.

"Enough-" Carlino swung an arm out at him, a pesky swipe that Feliciano slapped down with one hand before taking firm, fast hold of his brother's wrist. "_Stop that! _If you want to yell at someone then go yell at your staff!"

The hurt and disbelieving look Carlino hit him with did more damage than the weak flail a moment before. Feliciano couldn't honestly tell if he was pulling the youngest-sibling card or if this much drama really was taxing him to the brink.

"You're sending me out of the room for this?" This meeting, this showdown, this whatever it would be?

"Yes," because he was acting like a child, and frankly Feliciano didn't think he could handle it. "Now go wash your face." He had tears and sweat all over his flushed skin, and when he looked at their uncle as if Mario would say something, Feliciano's word stood. He had to take his hurt feelings and go, and the older brother honestly didn't know how or when he would make everything up to him.

Carlino left quickly, and the door almost cracked the frame when the fragile wood collided with the wall. It left Feliciano and his uncle standing under the flickering florescent lamp in the stale white room filled with order forms and receipt tickets, and Mario was quick to fill the air before it became silent.

"I see Lovino wasn't exaggerating when he told me things were complicated." Feliciano was still watching the door, he was still staring right at it because he didn't know what he was supposed to be feeling right now. He hated being angry, he hated being like this. "I'm sorry that this is the first thing we have to talk about, Feliciano. I was hoping we could open a bottle of wine and catch up out front in the light."

"Are you saying we can't?" He had no concrete reason for why he asked that question, Feliciano just knew he didn't trust himself to look at the man who was now standing behind the desk. For them this had always been Uncle Mario's desk in Uncle Mario's office. This was the small room you only entered if you were in trouble too serious for Mama to handle, or if someone thought you were finally old and responsible enough to run in and grab extra business cards or a stapler.

"I'm saying Carlino screamed enough at me just now to explain why you're so upset." Mm, he was glad it was that obvious, although it was frustrating to feel a kind of rage that actually bellied that midnight car ride half a week ago. "Feliciano look at me."

He had to think about that, but maybe he didn't think about it enough before he answered:

"You were hoping to share a bottle of wine with the man you accused of molesting your nephew?" There, he looked at him, was Mario happy now? He looked at him despite the sore pain that caught him under the jaw, pinching below his mouth so his tongue hurt just trying to swallow. His lungs felt heavy and he knew his eyes were going red, but damn it Feliciano looked and he forced the man in front of him to break eye-contact first.

Mario was a heavy older man and he was standing behind his desk with one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the old wood standing between them. He broke eye-contact to stare at the stains and grooves, running his fingers over them as he shook his head quickly, muttering softly under his breath and- for the first time Feliciano could think of, looking guilty.

"No... No you would never..."

"That's what you said."

"I know." He wasn't even going to lie and say he didn't remember, or that he had no idea what Feliciano was talking about. He just came out-right and _said it..._ "I did say it, and I-"

"You _believed it._"

"No." _Liar._ "Liar? _Me?"_ He sensed both the anger and the warning but god-damn it Feliciano was not backing down now, and he didn't care how high up his uncle's balding head his eyebrows went. "You of all people want to toss out accusations? You, who doesn't have a leg to stand on in this town anymore and your brother has to harbour you like a criminal in _my_ restaurant?"

"He's harbouring me because _you_ went around spreading sick lies!" Feliciano snapped back, because he was not going to be talked down to by a man who who'd already disowned him. "You! You just want me in jail! You went out of your way to call me back in October and try to guilt me into coming back home, and now that I'm here I can't figure out why you even bothered!"

"Of course I wanted you home!" Oh god, they were shouting. It only struck him when he noticed the way his uncle's face was already flaring up red and he could feel his own skin burning. "I was the idiot who sent you to Berlin in the first place, and look what happened to you!"

"Me? What happened to_ me?_" Don't _even_- Feliciano brought both hands up and started counting points on his fingers: "I have a job, I have a career, I have a house and two cars: I live in a country that knows how to spend its fucking money!"

"Money- yes!" He boomed, slamming one fist on the desk keeping them apart as they gestured and screamed. "Because who do you think paid for that education that got you that car and that house? But then instead of coming home like you were supposed to you stayed over there and you became-" He wouldn't_ dare._ "-one of _those_-" _Say it._ "-what _you_ are!"

"Yes, what I am: which is educated and successful and doesn't go home every night reeking of onions and garlic!"

"_Which is exactly what I wanted for you!_" The scream startled them both, because Feliciano choked on a retort he didn't have and before his uncle could follow it up with something, the old man had tears on his face. They were sudden and foreign, hot wet tracks that the nephew had never seen before and the uncle wasn't supposed to shed, and as he took a breath to control himself Mario had both hands up in fists over his forehead. He raised his hands the same way Feliciano's grandmother had the day before: up like he was too overwhelmed by the topic and furious with the argument to continue. He didn't hide behind his hands, he just collapsed under them. "Marguarite and I... that's what we wanted... that's what _she_ wanted..."

No. No don't bring her into this... It wasn't fair for him to do something like that because it felt like a cold blast to Feliciano's chest, something that froze the hot air in his body and made his ribs contract until he thought they would crunch together. His blood stopped running and his eyes overwhelmed themselves with tears. He wanted to say something, but his uncle was still going in a much quieter, more forlorn voice behind the desk:

"The week before, or not even..." He was whispering and Feliciano couldn't remember such a soft sound coming from him that wasn't meant to sooth one of them in childhood. "I remember her saying how if you got a job in Germany, if it paid better then you should stay there... _I remember saying yes..._"

"And then after her funeral you said I-"

"Feliciano I was _angry..._" That wasn't an excuse, he wouldn't let that be his excuse and he just wished he could have felt enough of his body in that moment to say as much. "She was there and then she was gone, and her child had to be there in that wreck with her, and then everything came out of you in that explosion..."

"It wasn't supposed to happen like that." Feliciano found himself leaning heavily on the back of the chair next to him, the one he hadn't seen and didn't want to sit down on. He'd stood for this much of it and Feliciano was determined to remain upright.

"I know that now. I didn't then, but I was angry." Asking him to look up again right now was too much though. He didn't know how he was supposed to carry on for the rest of the day and into the night because he just felt so worn out and tired, exhausted from so many tears he could feel still trickling down his face along the old crusty lines from his fight with Carlino... "Things were different when I was your age. There was no internet to look these things up, there were no pamphlets on the street you could just grab and read on the train. People like you were just GRID and cradle-robbers: it was a shock and I was angry, and I don't know how to tell you I'm sorry and have it make a difference, Feliciano, I just don't."

It wasn't fair for him to say that and for Feliciano to believe him. It wasn't fair for this person, one of two who'd stepped into his life to fill the role a booming voice and broken plates had left vacant, to stand there and cry and sound so sorry when he was supposed to be the one who only talked business and money. Even what little Feliciano remembered of his mother's funeral told him that watching this uncle cry was just wrong, and that was what killed his resolve to stick his chin in the air and march out proud and offended and unable to forgive...

Because it didn't matter what they'd done to him: he couldn't do it back.

"I just don't understand." He was weeping and he didn't care: he was tired and he just wanted all of this horror to go away. "I don't understand _why..."_

He heard the brush of fabric against cardboard and knew though the intense blur of his tears that his uncle had moved out from behind the desk. The office was small and Feliciano couldn't help himself: he flinched back, stepping away until he knew he was out of space and had to stare at the floor to keep from looking at someone who had always, bar this incident, been like a father to him.

"I'm sorry, Feli." He felt hands touch his arms and tensed up without pulling away this time. He wanted to hiss at him not to force himself, not to pretend he was okay with touching something he obviously hated and just couldn't understand, but the words were jammed up against a sob he was hell-bent on keeping inside. When his uncle pulled him properly into the hug it was tight and close, Feliciano fighting to keep his hands down at his sides because he couldn't handle being loved and being hated at the same time. It wasn't fair for _him_ to feel like the villain when he hadn't done anything to deserve any of this. "I'm sorry, and I'm sorry, and I'm never going to stop being sorry. And if your mother-"

"_Please_ stop talking about her," he begged, and he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, elbows pinned tight to his torso so he wouldn't try and lift his arms. He could smell heavy cologne and the polish used to buff the restaurant tables to a shine on his uncle's coat, and it was honestly all he could do not to give an insincere _"I forgive you_" instead just to make the embrace end. "Please don't..."

He wanted to hug back, but he wouldn't let himself.

"..._I'm sorry..."_

So when he felt his uncle start to cry again, Feliciano let himself do that instead.

* * *

**I cried but that's because I'm a wimp, this wasn't really that heart-wrenching an argument… I thought I'd done better so I might edit it at some point.**

**For those who don't know: GRID was the name for AIDS before they knew what the crap AIDS even was. If you've ever heard of AIDS being the "gay disease" then you're thinking GRID-era (pre-1980s).**


	13. Service and Four Beers

**Will You Be There, Tears of an Angel, Yellow, I Do It For You.**

**Recovery is almost ready to update but this was fully ready to update.**

**The dialogue is a bit painful, but I can't decide if it's because Feli's feeling the heat or if I could have done a better job of it. I'll let you guys be the judge so please leave a review at the bottom!**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Service and Four Beers

By the time Feliciano and Mario had both calmed down enough to actually leave the office in the back of the restaurant, Carlino was gone. He wasn't on the premises and the rest of the staff were too busy with their own tasks to help look for him.

"So you didn't tell him?" Mario questioned, but his voice was tired instead of frustrated or angry with him.

"How could I without talking to you first?"

Feliciano's answer was heavy and awkward enough that his uncle just looked away. Mario rubbed the back of his neck with a rough sigh, muttering something under his breath about everything coming together poorly. Feliciano found that unfair, but then he remembered something else he knew he needed to ask someone about: Lovino.

"How many times has Lovino been up to Berlin since Mama passed away?" Feliciano could only count three visits: once just after she'd died, again in October, and then just last week for Feliciano's birthday. When he asked the question he watched his uncle pick his head up again, his round face looking a little pale before he quickly shook it and brought both hands up to wave away the topic.

"That's between you boys, I have nothing to do with it." _Oh_...

"I think you could have avoided the issue better by just answering me." There were certain things Feliciano knew you just didn't question or say, but this really shouldn't have been one of them. "Uncle?"

"It would really be better for you to ask your brother when he gets home tomorrow." And that just made things worse, because Lovino was supposed to come home today and Feliciano said as much. "He usually says that." _Great. _

Feliciano was following his uncle across the restaurant floor, reaching the till at the bar where a new credit-card reader had been installed since he'd last worked here. Mario's heavy hands quickly stacked the scattered menues and double-checked a note from the kitchen, because even if it was well past noon Feliciano still had to make himself useful. Those menus wound up in his hands under another copy of the same floor lay-out he'd dismissed earlier, so he checked the numbers and tables as he was spoken to.

"Now I don't want to hear another word about it: I want to hear you putting those German lessons to good use for our guests."

"I think I'd rather go home and take a nap..." And that comment, of all things, earned him a pinched cheek and a childish scolding.

"You can sleep all you want after the tour-bus is seated and served and have paid." He was not a child and bus? What bus? "There's one arriving today at one from Rome." It was already ten past the hour so _what bus?_ "So they're a little late, it means you have about fifteen minutes."

"A bus so you mean, like, ten people?" Ten people at one table meant-

"Think closer to twenty." _Twenty people at one time the floor was already half-full!_ "Happy birthday, Feliciano, I'm sure you can do it! And while you handle things here I'm going to go find your little brother."

"My birthday was on Monday and this is definitely not the gift I wanted." Twenty people making twenty orders- no wait what kind of bus was it? Was it a tour-group or a bunch of little groups? Were they setting up three big round tables or a bunch of small ones for parties of three and four? What if they didn't speak Italian _or_ German? When was the last time Feliciano had carried more than his own plate out of a kitchen? Did he have a pen? Where were the pens?

You know what Feliciano had wanted for his birthday? He'd wanted a nice at-home dinner with his partner and his brother pretending to get along for a few hours. As far as actual gifts went he would have been happy with a bottle of red wine or a new tube of vermilion oil paint.

Instead he had three minutes to try and orient himself before he was up to his confused ears in the excited chatter of twenty-_five_ hungry Swiss-Austrian tourists, and he really did want that bottle of wine.

"_Wait, you speak German?" _No, no he didn't no he really really- _"Greta nevermind, ask this one instead!"_

It was a lot like being a pet at a party, because Feliciano found himself very quickly being passed around from table to noisy table to play translator, taking orders and muddling through accents and dialects he just wasn't used to. It wasn't being made to speak that had him chaffing of course, but the way he kept having the exact same conversation over and over again with every person.

"Actually I settled in Germany about three years ago." But it wasn't really all bad, after all: talking to patrons had once been his best strength in the restaurant. "I'm an artist, of course! I've heard Vienna is supposed to be breathtaking."

The tourists and troubles just kept coming: a bottle of wine that was just too sweet for the patron's tastes, a piece of lamb served without enough pepper, and then a loud dispute over business and economics were just part of it. Thankfully, he was able to put that unwanted bottle of too-sweet wine to good use and serve it, _on the house_, in exchange for peace between vacationing business partners. Even as food came from the kitchen and landed on tables in front of hungry diners, Feliciano was still called on several times for his personal recommendations on the wine, the local sights, and he was partial to more than one inappropriate exchange.

_"Excuse me, oh, sir, please wait."_ The light touch on his arm made Feliciano turn immediately, because even if he was sure he was walking in several directions at once he stuck his smile back on his face and looked down at a table holding four older women. Theirs was one of the only tables that actually spoke passable Italian: a band of friends touring across Italy before planning to take a boat over to Greece later in the season- it was hard not to overhear conversations like that.

"Of course, Ladies, how may I be of service?" More napkins? More wine? No, their glasses were fine and they were still enjoying their desserts. The four of them shared a look and a laugh and Feliciano had a terrible sinking feeling that... honestly, was probably just blowing things out of proportion.

"We know that in Italy you don't tip," not quite true, but go on. "but about forty minutes ago you took off your jacket, and those pants fit you fabulously from behind." He- _oh._

_"Oh, you made him blush! You're terrible!"_ Uuh... Yes, that really was a blush. He hadn't done that in a while and the laughter from the table was making it that much harder to bring under control.

There really had been a time where he'd watched Lovino go through this kind of thing regularly, but Feliciano already found himself painfully out of practice. He was sure he'd be able to get his face and body to cooperate for a friendly flirt, but his mind was screaming white-noise in two and a half languages. It had already been a long day, and he had no idea what to say that wouldn't end up being either stupid or vulgar.

But he did manage to make himself move. While his brain was spinning its tires in the mud he scooped up the patron's hand in one of his, lifting her pale hand up to his lips where, still lacking anything remotely charming to say, he kissed her fingers in thanks and told his lips to smile without stress.

"Then I hope your experience here is complete. More wine, _Signorina?_" Without quite allowing his eyes to open up all the way, he spoke close against her skin and then released her hand as he purred the final word. It felt awkward coming out of his mouth, but his guests' grasp of Italian was such that he didn't really need to worry about poetry. Her face lit up brilliantly with a scarlet flush, and well before he'd straightened up and shone a grin at the rest of the table, the same laughter as before was washing over the table cloth and shaking the glasses.

But that kind of side-splitting laughter, as embarrassing as it was for one patron and her unfortunate waiter, meant that if given half a chance then anyone at that table would recommend, if not revisit, the same little Italian restaurant. There were business cards for the restaurant and winery included with every receipt slip from the electronic till, all stapled neatly together and handed out in handfuls when requested. At least a dozen bottles of wine for the road were bought right at the counter with maps and brochures for the Valenti estate tucked into each tall bag. Their tour-group had already come from that direction and seen the winery, but the difference between just tasting a selection of wine and actually enjoying a bottle with a heavy meal did wonders for business on both ends.

It was well past four when the bus finally pulled away to get on the highway far away from town, and Feliciano was numb from his morning with family and his afternoon running out of smiles. His cheeks were actually getting sore, but in an effort not to repeat what had happened yesterday he quietly ordered a small sandwich for himself. If he had to be miserable then he wasn't going to get sick.

It bothered him that he hadn't seen his brother or uncle again yet, because it didn't make sense for Carlino to run off and actually hide himself away somewhere. He should have told their uncle that it was okay for Mario to break the news Feliciano had been fighting with, because his little brother had to hear it sooner rather than later, and he had to hear it from someone he wasn't furious with...

Shifts were changing and Feliciano was eating his lunch in the garden again, sitting in the same chair he had last night and trying to figure out what he was going to do with himself. The sun was beating down on his head and he couldn't shake the idea of a nice long nap to clear his mind. He could go all the way back to the house, or he could even find a patch of shade on some grass somewhere and take his chances that he wouldn't end up stumbled across by someone he'd rather not see. Either way he was finished here for the day, and the thought of swinging by the house just for a pad of paper and a pencil was beginning to appeal to him.

"Delivery!" But as soon as he heard that voice he realized he should have eaten his lunch in the car... "Good wine, the best in the region! Did you guys see that bus come through?"

Since he'd arrived, Feliciano hadn't heard Alice's voice sound quite like that. She'd been quiet and tense with him and that, honestly, wasn't right. Alice Valenti was not a quiet or timid kind of girl, she was loud, excitable, and if you couldn't hear her coming then she just wasn't coming at all.

But now he could hear her through the kitchen's open door. Her voice made him spring to his feet and, although he hated himself for it, he found a spot behind the lemon tree to, uh, not hide. He just wanted to stay out of the way, understood?

"Hey."

Oh no.

"_Hey,_" it was Lovino's line-cook, the spectacled blonde who spoke poor Italian and worked beside Carlino and the restaurant's chef. She was just poking her head out of the kitchen, but when she saw him not-hiding she stepped out properly and pointed back inside. "She's looking for you." Shit, shit, shit, why would she be looking for him? But before Feliciano could ask the cook was called back inside, leaving him in the garden with an empty plate and no way of sneaking out the gate without looking like a complete coward.

One more time, he could do this. Feliciano was on his last leg but he was not done just yet.

"Alice!" But as soon as he moved from the sunlight to the kitchen light and on back into the dining room, he felt anxious. All it took was eye-contact to send a bolt of pure tension through the back of his last leg's only working knee.

"Feliciano!" Should have run away. They were both smiling but they both _definitely_ should have run away. "How was your second day? You're done here, right?"

"It was great." Lie. "I was just finishing my lunch in the back." Not-lie. At least this time he hadn't caught her in work-out clothes or dressed down for the early morning, and maybe that was why Feliciano was able to lean on the counter in front of the restaurant's wine-racks and not feel like he was about to fall over. They were both dressed professionally, him in a collared blue shirt and black slacks, and her wearing a pale green blouse and grey pencil-skirt. He didn't look at her shoes, he just noticed that her hair was up in a neat, curly pony-tail behind her head with her long bangs clipped to the side of her face so the brandy curls stayed out of her way. If she was wearing make-up then he couldn't see it.

"What's this you've brought?" There was one wooden box with the winery's crest printed on it resting on the bar-top, several more stacked next to her where someone with a dolly had wheeled them in. It was a distraction from whatever else could have brought him out here, and they both jumped on it.

"Just restocking, but there's a new red in this batch." She would have been better off telling someone else about this, but she just pulled out a tall green bottle filled with red wine and ignored that fact. The vessel seemed almost black except for the indigo strip around the label, and she handled the bottle firmly and easily, resting the neck in one hand and spinning it with her fingers on the wide bottom. "Yes, this is one of them. It's quite dry, but there are a few deeper notes to it that are sort of like chocolate."

"That definitely sounds like something worth trying..." Feliciano wasn't sure if he'd said the words until her smile faltered a little bit, her eyes still stuck on her family's label until she quickly handed the bottle out for him to take. It was just another distraction, so he kept his eyes glued to it as he felt the familiar weight and the cool texture of the glass. "A table wine, right?" Something to be had with food.

"Yes, or on its own. It isn't much of a dessert wine though." Feliciano knew his wines, but he _didn't_ know why none of that information was making itself available to him. He'd been doing poorly with conversations all day: talking to tourists didn't count.

"Maybe I'll take a bottle back with me." He almost said back _home_ but it felt crass in his mouth, setting the bottle down slowly on the counter top. It should have been easy to fall into a conversation about wine, but as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets the only thing Feliciano could think of to say was: "I haven't had your family's wine in a very long time, I'm sure it's even better than I remember."

"Oh, don't say that." She gave a stressful little laugh as she spoke, just a puff of air that got caught between her lips and nose. "Lovino brought you two bottles in February."

Silence. With the ambiance of the calm restaurant it shouldn't have been so definite, but the clatter of dishes and the murmur of mid-afternoon voices didn't have an impact. He knew without breaking that silence that Lovino would be furious with him, but Feliciano couldn't lie and say he wasn't getting angry himself.

"That's funny," except none of this was funny, "because I haven't seen him since October." The same thing he'd said to his little brother, and now he was watching his ex purse her lips again and look anywhere except at him. Feliciano took a breath and, "How many times has he-?"

"Can we talk about something else?" She interrupted and found the will to look at him in the same breath. Alice's body filled with air and straightened up as she set one elbow down on the counter, the box and bottle both standing between them for distance. "Anything else, like if you're going to your grandmother's birthday on Sunday."

"Of all the ways to change the subject..." Feliciano needed his idiot brother to come home so he could figure out what the hell was going on with him.

"It's a valid question, Feliciano." That wasn't his point. "She came by the house this morning after you left and was looking for you. She was upset about something your grandfather had said."

"Something about me?" It was improper to ask a question like that, nevermind to put it in what he knew was a bitter voice. Carlino had mentioned their grandfather getting riled up too. "Don't answer that, but what you want to hear is no: I'm not going."

"Why not?" Because it was none of her business, that was why, not that he could just say it like that... "Don't assume that that's what I wanted you to say."

"Well it's hard to think any other way, Alice." He knew _that_ came out sharply and immediately closed his eyes hoping for a pause. She didn't say anything to rebuke his tone of voice, and with full awareness of the restaurant around them, Feliciano brought one hand up slowly to gesture carefully and make sure he was understood, his arm bending back and forth at the elbow. "I am not the only one keeping secrets anymore." Breathe deeply, speak slowly, he was not going to say something he was going to regret. "And I am not facing him again without knowing exactly what is going on behind those locked doors."

"Facing him?" She tossed the words back at him. "You make it sound like you're going to fight him, Feliciano he's in his seventies."

"Which is probably why I lost the last time I saw him." Alright, enough of this: it wasn't doing anything good for either of them. "Subject change." He was giving himself a headache now and closed his eyes again, touching his palm to his forehead gently so he could press down and stop the pain before it started.

"We might need a code-word for that soon, or some kind of short-hand." Her voice sounded tense and a little breathless, but it wasn't quite the same level as what he'd endured last night. Days in this place were beginning to last longer and longer, and it was wearing on him. "There uh, there actually was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something else, I mean."

Some kind of short-hand for "_Change the subject!"_ might actually be worth looking into if their conversations kept carrying on like this: they stopped and started with more trouble than a dying engine. But at least they were trying again, and maybe this exchange was going better than the others: she'd known where he'd be today and had come anyways, right?

"What kind of something else?" But he knew he still had to be cautious, even when he looked up at her making that bold face she sometimes put on to get through something difficult. It wasn't a scary look, it was just the way Alice puffed out her cheeks a little bit with her pink lips puckered sort of like a fish. She was making herself stand taller than normal, which made it strange to see her body stretched so rigidly. Feliciano could remember her doing this since they'd been children though: if she ransomed her breath then Alice would have to make herself speak.

"Even if you aren't going to the party, are you at least going to give her something?" But this wasn't much of a something else.

"Subje-"

"No, just let me finish!" Feliciano couldn't help his frown, but this just confirmed that they needed a code-word: something harder to interrupt. "If you didn't bring anything from Germany then there are lots of places worth checking out in Rieti. The town has changed, Feliciano and it's worth it to go see while you're here. I know you want to speak to Lovino, but trust me he won't want to talk to anyone when he gets back tomorrow: come with me into town instead." Now _that_ Feliciano had not expected. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he heard her right at all and had to stop and wait in case she tried to correct herself. She didn't.

"Was that, did you just suggest we spend the whole day together?" His hopes came surging up before he could stop them and Feliciano felt the first genuine smile of the day break through across his face. This actually felt like forgiveness, it felt like an olive-branch that he'd be a fool to refuse.

"I…" And the way she hesitated didn't frighten him either, because the _way_ she did it was with surprise and then that firm angel's pinch on her cheek as she fought with a smile. Alice's whole face seemed to soften, and for the first time since he'd arrived Feliciano felt like he could actually _breathe_ in front of her. "I did. I mean-" Mean what? This already meant more to him than he could- "I mean if the day is too long then we can just go in the morning, or in the evening if you want." He-

"I really don't care, whichever you prefer sounds best." Because it was real he couldn't get the smile off his face, it wouldn't budge and it didn't hurt him to keep it there. He wasn't sure he'd live it down if he cried in public and in front of her, but after the worst day of his week this was the kindest thing she could have offered him.

"Then… we'll leave early and see how it goes." That was a good idea, that was a wonderful, wonderful idea, and he… "Feliciano?" He just…

"S-Sorry." And now this felt pathetic, because if he looked back even over the last several hours then, excluding the blur of work, there had been nothing but anger and tears around him for days. "Something in my eye." It was exhausting to go from fighting Ludwig in the car to begging at Lovino in Munich, to tip-toeing around his in-laws and getting into a screaming match with his little brother and then his uncle. It was barely five in the evening and Feliciano was do damned _tired…_

"Pick a code-word." He was dabbing at his eyes with the cuff of his shirt when she spoke. He kept doing it over and over again while that sincere smile on his face started to seize up and feel forced like all the others. He felt her touch his other wrist and the awkward way she tried to hold his hand, not like a child, but like a friend. "Pick one or… or I'll have to ask what's really wrong."

"Rieti." He could have put more thought into it, but as he made himself stop and look at her properly again, Feliciano's smile felt welded to his jaw and was beginning to hurt all over again. Fighting, and fighting, and more fighting… One day without that would be worth it. "I… I would rather talk about Rieti."

When Alice smiled back at him this time, her cheeks looked just as hollow as his felt…

* * *

No temptation.

That was what a straight bar was meant to be: no temptation.

Just beer and sports channels, a lot of loud conversation and Gilbert making sure there was just enough food to keep them both standing and yet allow the alcohol to work its way through Ludwig. There was no temptation in a straight bar, because as comfortable as Ludwig was with himself behind closed doors, out in public there were specific rules and strict codes of conduct: women waited for men to buy drinks when they wanted to flirt, and men did not pick up men in straight bars. It was safe to come and sit and drink without having to worry about anything uncouth in a straight bar, Ludwig just had to think about beer.

"And he wants to get his Masters soon too." Beer and his partner, but Gilbert was barely listening to him and Ludwig just complained between long draws on the glass sleeve in front of him. "He says the museum will pay, but you know who has to really pay? _Me._" Another drink, and his tongue felt a bit looser so Ludwig just let it go: "He's grumpy when he has to study and he's like a little child when papers are due. It's _two years_ to earn a Masters of anything and he wants to only go back part-time, that's three years! Maybe four! He expects me to put up with him whining and complaining for the next-"

"Less yelling, more drinking." Gilbert reached across the bar and nudged the base of his glass closer to Ludwig, and like a rotten child Ludwig just scooped the drink up and pulled the bitter, earthy drink over his tongue and let the fragrant scent flood straight through his sinuses. "And dude you _met_ in college, you put up with it then, didn't you?"

"We were _both_ in school: that's different. I'm not going back."

Less complaining, more drinking. He emptied his second beer and was making steady progress on the third by the time the game on the screens caught his attention well enough to shut him up. A clean goal for the city's team meant another round of drinks and he was beginning to feel both the alcohol and the temper he was supposed to be out soothing.

Feliciano didn't like sports-bars, but what was not to enjoy? He barely paid attention to sports unless it was on an international level, and Ludwig had gone through at least ten different kinds of beer before just giving up on finding one his partner would do anything more than just tolerate. If they went out then it had to be something they were _out_ doing, which was okay, but they could never just stay in one place for more than an hour: Feliciano would get bored and fidgety and start talking about things in the area- a park they could walk through or a different bar down the lane.

What was so wrong about just spending the evening in one damn bar with a tab and watching a whole game with friends and strangers? So what if there was a statue across the street or a buckster doing tricks on the corner? Sit. Relax. Have a beer. Not every day had to be an adventure.

Ludwig finished his fourth beer and found himself switching to something a little smaller, and a little sweeter on his tongue. So what if he got drunk? He was with his brother who was… somewhere, in the cheering crowd, and he wasn't in the kind of place where he could get into trouble of he drank too much: maybe embarrass himself, but Ludwig was pretty sure he was already too far gone to worry, because he just didn't _care._

Another drink?

Gilbert was paying.

Six drinks and counting.

* * *

**Yes because getting drunk is a good way to end the day when you're mad Ludwig good plan what a thinker you are gold star.**

**Leave a comment below and I'll see you soon!**


	14. Hair Gel and Voicemail

**Try, Karma, Everything I Do, Unfaithful, Will You Be There, Tears of an Angel, Someone Else, Unwell, Oceano, Stereo Hearts, Just Give Me a Reason.**

**EDITED MAY 4****TH****, 2013: I forgot a section! It's the first section here in this chapter, so if this is your first time reading, ignore this note!**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Hair Gel and Voice Mail

What was the difference between a man's lips and a woman's? Functionally, the answer was nothing. To purse and to smile, to stop water and air and grow dry in the cold wind. To pucker and swell and suck and kiss…

_Kiss…_

So, what was the difference between a man's kiss and a woman's? The smell of it, for one. Because a man's body would always smell different from a woman's, just like how he would stand and react differently- how his lips would part and his arms rise warm and strong like the folds of a heavy blanket. And he would smell different too, of course.

In the morning he would smell like fresh air and dawn-lit dew, because he walked the dogs before the sun was all the way up in summer and the day began before dawn in winter anyways.

Some mornings there was the sweet flavour of coffee with too much sugar on thin lips framed by soft skin washed with spearmint aftershave. And by evening time that freshness is lost to tired sighs and lips that search for yours between business news and local stories on the television. Dinner and beer make him warm and clumsy when heavy steps creep into the garage, or bring you close to distract busy hands from dishwater and leftovers.

A man's kisses moved down the back of your neck, or his strong nose pushed up through your hair while hands asked permission to loosen ties and slip buttons from their holes, all with the hope of finding skin flushed by delicate caresses and so… many… kisses…

* * *

The worst kind of hangover was the kind of hangover that made your heart beat loud enough to wake you up. Or maybe that was the second-worst kind.

The worst kind of hangover, Ludwig revised, was the kind of hangover where after you woke up because your heart was beating too loudly, you realized that you had no idea where the hell you were.

* * *

No matter how off-tempo Feliciano's sense of time was becoming, he still knew a Saturday morning when he felt one. There was something in the sun-soaked air, and between the pilled cotton sheets, and it meant that when he reached, exhausted, across the fold-out bed looking for someone who still wasn't there, that person still wasn't here. Feliciano woke up for the fourth straight day in a row wondering where Ludwig had gone and why he wasn't here, in bed, with him.

And for the third straight morning in a row, Feliciano sat up alone in his in-laws' sun-room and reminded himself that he was the one who wasn't _there_, in Berlin, with _Ludwig_…

He missed him. But was he still mad at him? It was Saturday. Their big argument had been on Monday night, Feliciano'd left on Tuesday, and they'd last yelled at each other over the phone on Wednesday. The last time they'd slept next to each other had been Sunday night, the last kiss on Monday morning, and their last time as lovers had been the Saturday before.

Saturday had been the day before Lovino's arrival from Italy, and Feliciano had been too happy and excited and nervous and grateful to let his lover out of bed at six on a Saturday morning to walk the dogs.

They'd last held each other a week ago today, and just using the word _'last'_ to describe the hugs and kisses and everything else hurt more than he wanted it to. Those couldn't really be the _'last'_ times, he couldn't let those be the _'last'_ times- a careless peck on the cheek while hurrying around preparing breakfast, a friendly hug that morning before Ludwig had left for work, a sleepy, barely-aware foray between the sheets in the spring sun.

So, was Feliciano still mad at him? Maybe. But now he missed him too and that was worth more. It meant more than car-keys and dry-cleaning bills, it hurt more than opened mail and Gilbert's complaints. So he couldn't let those last times be the last times, because he couldn't break everything off so suddenly all over again.

Still sitting there in just his boxers with the blankets piled around his legs, Feliciano brought both hands up in the light and rubbed them over his eyes, telling himself not to go where his thoughts were headed, but he couldn't control them. He told himself to look anywhere else: at the shelves around the low stone perimeter of the room- to game-sets he hadn't seen since he was a child, old art projects Alice and her sister had made in school for their parents. There were old, deflated pool toys and a little raft piled up in one corner next to a fake tree in a pot, and the light streaming over the mountains shone goldenrod through the glass. There was a flower-bed growing around the outside of the sun-room, and the grape-vines on the rolling hills beyond that.

There were plenty of things for him to think about, so he didn't have to upset himself over when he'd given Alice the last kiss they'd shared as lovers. When had he pulled her into his arms and actually meant it for the final time? When had he stopped being her fiancé and changed into Ludwig's partner? What would he say if she asked?

And what would he do if, just sitting here, he realized he still remembered which times and been their _last times?_

* * *

Ludwig, honestly, had no idea where the hell he was.

He opened his eyes to a room with sunlight and neutral brown paint- this was wrong. His bedroom was done in pale grey with metallic tones in the bedding, with black fixtures on the bed and furniture, not the bland kind of taupe he was looking at now. Their living room was blue, the spare-bedroom was white: there was no room in Ludwig and Feliciano's house that was taupe.

There was no taupe room in his house with a couch in it, because that was the next wrong- or was it right? He wasn't sleeping in a bed, which was good because this was still the wrong room, but it was wrong because it meant he wasn't _home_.

There was a blanket thrown over him, but as soon as Ludwig tried sitting up his head reminded him why he'd woken up in the first place: it was throbbing. The simple need for blood to flow through his head was pulsing and radiating discomfort across his scalp and feeding down the cords of his neck, spearing both his eyes when Ludwig realized there was sunlight coming from somewhere and his shirt was open.

Correction, not open: gone. His shirt was gone he wasn't wearing it _why wasn't he wearing his shirt?_

Ludwig practically fell off the couch where he'd been sleeping, awake and hurting as he caught himself on one arm and noticed, to his breathless relief, that his jeans were still in place- but his belt was open?

No, oh god no this wasn't happening to him. He took one bleary-eyed look around the room he was in and recognized nothing. He hadn't slummed his way over to Tino and Berwald's house and he wasn't looking up at Vash's rifle collection mounted on the wall. Ludwig was staring at a modern fire-place with built-in shelving units holding books and nick-knacks he couldn't examine right now. Nick-knacks that included two tumblers with water and faint traces of something else in them on the coffee table…?

Not possible. This was a prank.

Someone had remodelled since they'd last visited and now they were playing a prank on him.

Ludwig wasn't this kind of person. He'd never, not once in his entire life, been this kind of person. He wasn't going to start now and he wasn't going to let this happen. He picked his tired, hungover body up onto his feet and immediately fixed his belt. It was only undone, but the relief fell flat right before it welled up and punched him in the throat: there was no excuse for this, absolutely none.

His shirt was a crushed, wrinkled mess that still had the smell of beer on it as he snapped it straight and quickly pulled it on, buttoning it shut with shaking, clumsy hands. There was another smell pressed into the fabric, some kind of cologne that didn't belong to him or his husband, and that reality was making his ears ring.

He'd just woken up hungover and half-naked in a stranger's house, reeking of alcohol and male cologne. He caught one look at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall next to him and brought both hands straight up to his hair. The gel that usually held it back was dry and had turned the blonde flax into a bird's nest on his head. He couldn't stand it: his hair only behaved like that if his husband had taken great care to mess it up, just falling asleep wasn't enough for the kinds of tangles and clumps he could feel.

'_I didn't.'_ He had. _'I couldn't have.'_ He must have. Ludwig left his hair alone and tightened the last button under his chin, not letting himself fiddle with the collar on his shirt. If there was anything on his skin he couldn't trust himself with burning eyes and a sore throat not to scream.

He had to get out of here. Only after he was out could he worry about actually getting home, right now he just had to-

A sharp buzz in his back-pocket not only made Ludwig jump, but he nearly did scream.

* * *

Was it a mistake? Feliciano had been very clear, ruthlessly so, that he didn't want to have to deal with Ludwig calling or texting or otherwise bothering him while he was here. He'd screamed more than he'd meant to or could apologize for when he'd used Lovino's phone to call his partner, but he'd been sitting here for a solid ten minutes and had only crawled far enough across the bed to find his phone.

Staring at the device hadn't helped him feel any better. Searching up Ludwig's name didn't help either. There were pictures in the phone and he kept almost looking at them, veering away to check anything else in the list of silly apps and bright icons on the screen. He checked text messages from friends who were looking for him, typing out a half-hearted string or two of words for Feliks and Tino just so they were far enough in the loop not to worry about his vanishing act.

No new e-mails, just spam and junk. Nothing in his news feeds- he really didn't care about who had scored what last night.

He wound back up in his contacts and hit _'call'_ next to Ludwig's name. It was past nine, he'd definitely be up. It was only after he heard it ring the second time that he realized he had no idea what to say and started scrambling for words.

Hi? How's it going? Are the dogs doing alright?

Are you still mad at me? Are we over? Will you be there?

Words, he needed _words._

* * *

'_Oh god no, not right now._' That was his name right there on the screen and Ludwig couldn't stop himself before he found a frustrated, mortified tear running hot down his cheek. This couldn't be happening, he couldn't be stuck like this right now.

The black phone in his palm gave another wild shake, humming as the weights inside spun rapidly, warning him to pick up or lose the call. Ludwig got it half-way to his ear before he felt something painful kicking its way out of his chest- he couldn't answer if he was going to cry, he couldn't do that and have to lie about why.

If he was crying when Feliciano heard his voice again then he'd ask what was wrong. It didn't matter how upset he was already, if Ludwig was going to stand here weeping and hating himself then his husband would demand to know why. But what if he was in trouble and that was why he was calling? What if he was coming back sooner than expected and-

_No no no, he couldn't come back already, not when Ludwig was like __**this**__…_

"I'm sorry…" He whispered, staring down at the screen and just holding the phone in both hands as it vibrated one more time. "I'm so sorry, I don't- I just…" How could this have happened? How could it _be_ happening?

What had he done?

* * *

On the third ring Feliciano heard the static click that meant he was being sent to voicemail. Considering how many times he'd made Ludwig call him on the day he'd left, it felt like payback and Feliciano just closed his eyes trying to endure it. He leaned back until his shoulders hit the hard wooden shelf at the head of the bed, the sheets tossed over his waist as he stared down at the tented V his legs made in the bedding. At least he'd be able to hear Ludwig's voice in the recordi-

"Rise and shine!" The voice at his door made Feliciano jump so badly the phone dropped right into his lap. "Are you awake yet? Did you forge-?" and when he looked up at Alice's stunned face peering around the doorjamb, there was humiliation shining through the gold light. He couldn't tell if she was blushing, but she was staring straight at him for several moments before Feliciano remembered his bad habit of sleeping in just his boxers.

"I-" He jumped again because his brain was still set on German, and Alice slammed the door shut before he could make heads or tails of what had just happened.

The exchange set the unfortunate tone for his morning.

* * *

"Uhh…" He had to get home, there was no way to compromise: Ludwig needed to go home _now._ "I guess you're up."

The voice should have scared him as badly as the phone had before, but the reaction just wasn't in him. Ludwig clutched the small black device in his hand and turned, his ears roaring with the sound of blood and self-loathing rushing through him. Standing at a bend in the wall that transformed into the rest of what had to be the ground floor was whoever had brought him here, but Ludwig couldn't find the right kind of anger to turn around and try to blame him for this.

The man was tall like him, and dressed down in a white tee-shirt and a faded pair of blue jeans. He had a strong, square jaw and thick neck, blonde hair feathered around his ears and clumped up on the crown of his head where he must have styled and then slept on it. At this distance Ludwig didn't know what colour his eyes were, but the bow-shape of his mouth was fringed in dark gold scruff and the beginnings of a moustache and goatee.

"What happened?" he hated how the words came out because they wouldn't make anything better, but they were all he had. The way the stranger across the room rolled his eyes a little and swung his weight over his hips carried as much embarrassment as discomfort: he'd brought home a drunk who'd passed out with no memory.

"Not much, I turned around and you fell asleep." Insulted, that was part of his reaction too, but not anger. "You okay? There's a bathroom just around that way if you feel like-"

"I need to leave, I'm sorry."

Ludwig wasn't sorry because he'd proved to be a dud for someone who had, as far as he could think, been in the wrong place to begin with. A straight bar was a casual place, and that was the only location Ludwig could think of: the sports bar. He hadn't gone anywhere else, he hadn't been any place else in his foggy memory of the night where this could have happened. _Where_ had he met this person?

"Hey, listen." Ludwig's eyes came back into focus, but his senses were still lost in the pit of memories, each half-remembered scent and barely-there image cutting into him like paper edges. The stranger was closer to him now, close enough to put a hand on his arm and look straight at him with pale grey eyes and a confused knot tied across his forehead. "If you're freaking out about waking up at a guy's place then maybe you should sit down, have something to eat, and-"

"I'm married."

The hand snapped back and the stranger took a step away, the space giving Ludwig room to breathe as he brought one hand up and pressed the heel of his palm up against his own forehead, swallowing panic. He didn't even care enough to clarify what kind of marriage: the admission was enough.

"I didn't know."

"No, but I did." The words burned him, pressing pain down his throat like hot coals searing him with steam.

"We're not far off the beaten path, I can drive you to the nearest station."

"Thank you." Now he just… had to get home.

Get home.

That thought barely sustained him in the stranger's car, and it didn't help him when the other blonde tried to ease the terrible silence by giving his name: Matthias.

Ludwig stared out the window and choked out that he couldn't do this, and when the car reached the subway station he gave another mechanical thank you and got out.

Get home.

Ludwig didn't look back at the mistake watching him from the driver's seat, he just tried to lose himself in the Berlin crowd as fast as humanly possible. He just wanted to be anonymous, another figure in a rolling tide of faces and bodies crowding together and pulling apart between glass skyscrapers and painted street signs. He wanted the rattle of street construction and the ominous thrum of the city trains to drown out the panting breaths and starved gasps, the constant noise of shoppers and commuters running against the frantic beat of his heart.

When Ludwig hit the turnstiles he felt his empty back pockets. When he tried to check his jacket for his money, that was when he realized he'd lost them both: his jacket and his wallet.

He couldn't even tolerate thinking about it, not in the washed out lights of the subway station, the concrete and tile that suddenly sounded far too quiet, too empty, too close. In the time it took him with long, fast strides to reach the city air again the impact was already hitting him, a cold shock-wave from the crown of his head that rolled down over his clammy skin. By the time it reached his chest the heat was flowing down behind it, because this couldn't be real.

The wallet was something he could replace: credit cards, bank cards, driver's licence.

The jacket had been a gift: brown suede with a red silk lining, dark buttons over the pocket flaps and a cut an artist's eye had sized for his shoulders and waist.

Feliciano had always had impeccable taste.

Ludwig vanished into the shopping crowd knowing that even if he found home after this, it would never be quite the same again.

* * *

**If you think I hit Ludwig with the villain stick in this chapter, then you should have seen how the first draft came out. THAT was the villain stick, this was the unfortunate bastard stick.**


	15. Remembering Gilbert and Papa Valenti

**My confession, All Improvisio Amore, Ezio's Theme, Just Give Me a Reason, When You Say You Love Me, Frozen Heart and Death Of Parents.**

**I had to re-write the opening scene in the kitchen several times, because every time I thought it was finished and re-read it, it was terrible. I was really scared thinking that maybe, just **_**maybe**_**, this fic had died on me.**

**But I think I was wrong, so no more bad thoughts! Read! Read!**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Remembering Gilbert and Papa Valenti

It was an accident.

Accident.

A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T.

Or something _like._

* * *

It was an accident, it had all been an awful, terrible accident.

But that didn't make it not Ludwig's fault.

Ultimately he had to call Gilbert to come pick him up from downtown where he'd been left. At least he had his cell-phone, and at least it was still charged, because Ludwig wouldn't explain where he'd gone or what was wrong and he wouldn't say any of the things that needed to be said without his brother standing right there in front of him.

Physically, literally, in front of him.

"Lutz, what's wrong?" Gilbert was hung-over, and he was annoyed about being made to venture out into the sun and come so far from home just to find him. But when they met on the side-walk outside the small café where Ludwig had taken refuge from the light there was something else under the pale complexion and squinting blood-shot eyes.

It was just a shadow and it was very briefly there and gone again, but he'd seen it, and maybe the nostalgia of having an older brother who was a stronger brother was what made Ludwig just give up his pride and break. He saw Gilbert look at him seriously, and watched him stand there patiently, and remembered the years where he hadn't needed a father or a mother or a partner because he'd had Gilbert, and his brother for one day under the oppressive sun was himself again.

Because Ludwig shattered in public of all places, because he was ashamed and he was exhausted, he was sick from the sins he'd committed and he stank of the poison that had permitted them. He cracked and he broke and he fell apart at ten o'clock in the morning on a busy city street, adulterer and drunkard and bastard all wrapped up in one disgusting package of stale beer and lost credit cards.

And Gilbert was there to pick him up again.

Piece by vile, wretched piece, the brother Ludwig had lost to a desert night knelt down and picked him up off the dirty side-walk, strong hands that didn't quiver or jump around holding him tight in their grip and lifted him into the car.

He was gone again for the drive that was silent and sickening, that jumpy, erratic person who'd taken over Gilbert's life making a return and telling Ludwig, awkwardly, to just lay in the back-seat and sleep or something.

But then he was back when they reached the house, and he bullied Ludwig into a hot shower he didn't want in a room the guilt nearly locked him out of. And his brother was still there with a mug of hot milk and sugar, the kind he'd once made as a bed-time treat for a small child with no other guardian to look after him. Milk and hang-overs weren't supposed to mix, but the plain piece of toast that went with it and the bottle of water left by the bed were there to sooth his body as his tortured mind scratched its fingers raw searching for every ounce of comfort those memories could bring him.

Ludwig crawled from Feliciano's abandoned bed to the spare room on their house's second floor. He spent the rest of the day in bed.

And he cried.

* * *

Being walked in on with little more than a sheet around his waist, honestly, wasn't at all how Feliciano had planned to start his day. Failing to either leave a message or just man-up and call Ludwig again also didn't do much to help him feel better.

When the unwanted guest peeked out the living-room window after his shower and saw absolutely no sign of his brother's truck… well, now he was 0 for 3 and still in the red from yesterday.

Hearing his sister-in-law announce that "Vargas men are all cut from the same cloth!" just added a level of conflict to his morning that succeeded in making him feel even _less_ welcome within the villa walls, and he really hadn't thought that was possible. By the time he actually worked up the courage to step into the kitchen where Alice and her sister were eating breakfast, Feliciano had just barely talked himself out of just giving up and crawling back into bed for the rest of what was going to be a miserable day.

"Carlino's not so bad, I hope." Interrupting them with his own comment, Feliciano realized that if he fell asleep again in this house he'd probably wind up murdered. Furthermore it wasn't Chiara's words themselves that left him completely fed up and miserable, but the sheer violence with which she used them in that statement. "God protect him if he is, right?"

The prayer was not a joke. He'd lost the humor to be glib and let his mellow tone make that point for him. The dismal silence that swallowed the kitchen and its occupants was proof of its effect.

Seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen the same one where a few nights ago he'd shared a quiet meal with the same girl. Alice had her nose buried in a glass of apple juice, wide round eyes moving between Feliciano where he was standing in the doorway and her sister. She looked bashful, but Chiara only had the decency to purse her thick dark lips without actually looking sorry. She simply couldn't bother to be sorry.

"I…" So Alice piped up with something different. "I didn't mean to interrupt your call earlier." It was almost an apology, but not one that helped very much. She was just trying to break the silence her sister was ignoring, because Chiara had already decided that his presence just wasn't worth acknowledging: she was more interested in stirring the small cup of coffee by her elbow and looking down at the magazine open and folded over on the counter beside her. Feliciano knew he was watching her closely, and he knew _she knew_ he was watching, but it was like a train wreck: he wanted to know what she'd have to say next, and he wasn't going to let her catch him off-guard with it.

So it was a shame Alice took her turn with him instead, because even if he _had_ been looking at her Feliciano would never have expected the words that came out of her mouth:

"Is your wife doing alright?" She shocked him into looking at her again, Alice's hands shaking slightly as she poured a fresh glass of juice and then offered it to him. He didn't even correct her this time, because if she would honestly rather talk about his life in Germany than whatever was going on here, then he didn't know if he should accept the distraction or fight his way to the truth. What was going _on_ in this town?

"I'm not sure." So he answered slowly, moving cautiously across the thin ice spread across the conversation and accepting the glass as some sort of peace offering. "I was just sent to voicemail, I didn't bother calling again." Hadn't bothered because he hadn't known what to say…

"I guess you'll be waiting for a reply today then, won't you?" His gaze had begun to slowly drift back towards the older sister, but Alice forbade him from wandering back down that path and pushed him awkwardly along this one.

"Not really." But he resisted, it felt like he had to. "I was going to leave my phone here to charge." He made himself taste the juice, focusing on the tartness of the apples and not the sweetness that followed.

"You still want to go out?" Alice looked and sounded so surprised that Feliciano almost forgot about the tension with her sister. She lifted her head up off her hand where her chin had been resting, brown eyes watching him curiously as she shook her long bangs out of them so she could see clearly. Her fascination was almost uncomfortable, but he made himself ignore it as an effect of his bad mood.

"Of course." It was better to answer her question quickly, so he did it with a shrug and stopped either of them from dwelling on the issue. "I'm only here for a few more days, I'd rather make the most of them." Which probably also included not picking a fight with Chiara, but all the secret-keeping was getting to him.

"If you're so set on going-" But of course, ignoring Chiara didn't remove her from the room or, by extension, the conversation. "-then you can pick up something to eat along the way: I'm not cooking for you two."

Feliciano felt his jaw set itself tightly behind his lips, drinking his juice again so he wouldn't have to look down at Lovino's disapproving wife. Chiara stood up with a huff, sweeping her coffee cup over to the sink where she started the hot water with a knock against the tap.

"Mama and I will be down at the winery later this afternoon when she gets back from town." And that almost sounded like a warning…

"Would you like to see it?" The winery? Alice's question surprised him because he hadn't thought of it. But when he found his eyes caught up in hers again he noticed a light where it hadn't been before. It was that sincere, hungry kind of glow that he'd seen once or twice in the art-world: from collectors or young artists, anyone who felt they had something worth revealing and showing to the world. Pride had a way of saturating the air around a person and making their soul swell up and sing. And if they were so caught up in whatever it was, then the easiest way to please them was to give in and take a look: to show that their obsession was worth your time and attention too.

"I'd love to, actually." So if Feliciano was being given an opportunity to please someone he wanted so much to be on better terms with, then he was honestly happy and maybe even a little bit blessed to take it. "Your car or mine?"

Alice didn't answer him because Chiara muttered something harmless under her breath and stepped out of the room without another word. Her sister's attitude was unsavoury and Feliciano's mood was still rotten, but then he saw the way an angel reached down and lightly pinched Alice's round cheek next to the rim of her cup.

And maybe that made Feliciano's morning a little bit better than it had been before.

Getting out of the house took no time at all once it was decided. He'd said he wanted to leave his phone behind, but in reality he brought it with him just in-case Lovino tried to call him. He didn't know what he'd do or say if Ludwig contacted him instead…

Feliciano wanted to talk about Lovino almost as badly as he wanted to avoid mentioning his partner, but the topic was forbidden and they both searched for a way to keep those distracting topics at bay. The first distraction was the easiest one, because it also worked very hard to dispel the dreary, bitter cloud that had been building around his head all morning.

Feliciano had rented an old white convertible for his stay, but the car remained behind in the villa courtyard when he and Alice left. Instead, they climbed into the cute little blue Fiat that Alice owned, Feliciano settling into the passenger seat next to her. The white purse she'd grabbed was tossed carelessly into the back of the car once the keys were taken out, and those were in the ignition before he could decide whether or not to bother with the seatbelt.

"Is it new?"

"I told you there's better money in wine." Her smile was fast and easy, genuine because she didn't even think before giving it to him. It took a chip off the wall of '_what the fuck is going on here?'_ and let them settle in their seats before the engine woke up with a crackle of gears and exhaust.

And then they were off, immediately, with barely a change in speed between pulling a wide arc around the courtyard and veering off under the wall to reach the road. It brought an unwitting smile to his face when Feliciano _knew_ her foot never touched the brake as they sped off under treetops and bright sunshine. There was a cross on a string of rose-quartz beads swinging from the rear-view mirror, the gems glowing in the light as the engine picked up speed and made the rough gravel road smooth out with the tires hurrying across the jagged pieces.

"The winery first?" He asked again, comfortable with the fast speed down a familiar rural lane.

"Unless you've changed your mind, then of course."

"You can't talk to me about chocolate wine and then not expect me to try it."

"Do you like sweet wines now?" The engine whirred a little louder until with a change of gears it quieted back down to a persistent purr, the car jostling a little over a rough patch before a sweeping turn down the side of a hill brought them in contact with a main road and asphalt. Feliciano knew they weren't more than a kilometer or two from their destination, and both sides of the road were dominated by grape-vines and sunshine.

"Not so much, but I like them a little softer than I used to."

"Papa used to say we could serve you vinegar and you wouldn't know the difference."

"Well! Respectfully then, I disagree!"

She could talk about her father without falling into silence, and by the time the winery's entrance came screaming up at them along the paved road, Feliciano's vocabulary and taste for the cultivated drink had finally returned. He watched Alice press her palm flat on the twelve-o'clock position the wheel and turn it easily with her fingers spread, one toe tapping the brake for the first time since they'd left just so they could clear the narrow corner before she pressed the gas again and the car revved up and sped forward, kicking up dust and grit behind them and clouding the path. Feliciano had his elbow resting on his open window, catching the scent of the rosebushes traditionally planted at the end of each row of vines as they sped by. It was a _beautiful_ day…

The winery was a newer building than the homestead they'd just left, but it was only a technical feature. There had always been a structure present and Feliciano could remember Alice's father taking every opportunity when they'd been younger to tell them about the explosion that had levelled the original building.

It was a local legend about a Nazi battalion taking over the area during the war, only to be smoked out in the middle of a hot summer night by partisans who set the munitions depot on fire. It was a fabulous story complete with a local girl being taken hostage and her Partisan lover defeating Nazis with wit and charm, but it was ultimately false. He'd never heard the real story because _that_ was a Valenti family secret, but the old structure had burnt down in the sixties: a little too late for the Reich.

The new winery was a concrete building with a steel roof, two stories high and prettied up by Alice and Chiara's father to make it more appealing to tourists and travellers. The flat, square nineteen-sixties face now had red brick decorations around each of the sorry square windows, indigo shutters bolted to the solid white walls for aesthetics and an attempt to make it seem more like a converted house, not a brisk business frontier. A wide square drive hedged with new green shrubs and marked with half-sunken stones was functional for tour buses and tiny cars, the makeshift garden doing its best to add appeal to what had once been just a concrete square with a concrete path to a concrete door.

"I like the awning!" A white and purple banded banner was new to Feliciano's eyes, his sunglasses resting on his nose as he looked up at the decoration fluttering under the sharp steel eves. It wasn't much for blocking the sun or rain, but that was what the proper awning of the same material stretched over the entry-way was for. The two large, classical terracotta pots that had always stood to either side of the shallow red steps and tall black door had been cleaned up with their grapevine motifs restored by black paint and fine varnish, their tops spilling over with real vines and ferns that Feliciano touched idly with one hand as they passed.

"You'll like the air-conditioning more." The one thing this place had always lacked in summer. Feliciano watched Alice fuss through the wide belly of her purse looking for her keys when they found the front door locked, the soft leather falling to her hip with its strap on her shoulder, a white blazer cut short over her hips making the hourglass of her figure stand out strongly, hips rolling under the loose blue fall of her knee-length skirt as she led the way and he followed. He'd left his jacket in the car and almost felt under-dressed in just a polo tee-shirt, touching the blue stripes over his stomach once to make sure it was still properly tucked into his jeans.

The bulk of any winery's staff belonged out in the fields tending the vines, or in the back with the machines that did the pressing and fermenting and calibrating. It was too early to worry about the front of house and Feliciano could tell just from how easily Alice swept him through the familiar foyer that she didn't expect to run into any of her staff. The foyer was a long rectangular room that ran along the front of the building, sparse seating and a large oak bar dominating the chamber that boasted wine racks, bottles, and pamphlets in little brass stands. The winery's awards were proudly hanging on the brick wall behind several mounted casks of wine, and a portrait of Alice's grandfather, the Valenti Winery's founder, was mounted high over a display of sealed bottles capped in gold: the finest years the establishment had to offer.

On the one hand coming here felt like stepping onto hallowed ground, but on the other it was a windfall of memories trying to remember who was faster: Alice or Lovino, Carlino or Chiara, Feliciano or any of their parents when they were caught racing at full speed across such a wide room that had always, without fail, been at least one or two degrees cooler in summer than the scorching heat outside under the sun where play was actually permitted. How many times had he slammed into that corner in the wall where the room broke down into a small corridor? Too many, because his shoulder was hurting just thinking about that time his collar-bone had snapped in retribution.

So there was no running this time, but Alice took a quick moment to duck behind that long bar and locate a pair of clean wine-glasses for tasting with. They weren't going to drink much: just taste, so breakfast could wait until they were finished here. Excited in his own way to get this chance, as Alice took him down the hallway that had always led to the grown-up parts of the building Feliciano listened to her explain all the little things that had changed since he'd last been here.

The way they'd modernized and upgraded a lot of the technology in the brewery: the new presses and machines for washing and prepping the grapes when they came in from the fields. A security upgrade had happened sometime too.

A locked door and a digital key pad on the wall earned a lot whistle of appreciation from him, because Feliciano could distinctly remember the way he'd once just had to jiggle the doorknob a certain way to gain access down into the industrial cellar.

"We already produce almost twice as much as we did a few years ago; papa started the process, so Chichi and I just made some adjustments." And now Valenti wine was sold across the region, and they were pushing their way into Rome with his Uncle Mario's help and connections.

"Chiara and Lovino keep the businesses separate, don't they?" The winery and the restaurant. It made sense to partner up since Papa Valenti and Feliciano's uncle had been good friends for a very long time, the only change he'd sensed at the Pinwheel had been the way that relationship was now exclusive. Instead of carrying Valenti wine _and_ one or two others from the area, Lovino only served his guests wine with his wife's label on the bottle.

"Financially, yes." Alice didn't look at him when she said that, leading him down a flight of old stone steps that predated the modern building over their heads. They kept going down and more lights were flicked on by Alice's hand in the dark, florescent lamps flaring to life where they were suspended between dusty old beams and nigh-ancient brick arches.

The floor down here was dirt, and it had always been that way. The oak barrels were almost as tall as Feliciano and resting on their sides, ten rows deep and moving back towards the stone wall where bottled wines were resting in their lattice boxes, aging and ripening under the dust and glow of the cellar.

While the entrance upstairs brought back childhood memories, Feliciano found himself hesitating down here. When he'd been very small this level of the winery had been the topic of scary dares and summer time nightmares. He wasn't sure if he'd ever quite forgiven Chiara and Alice for that time he'd come down here looking for them late one night with a party going on upstairs, only to have them drop a sheet on his head from on top of one of the massive wooden kegs. He couldn't remember how old he'd been, he just knew he hadn't dared venture down here alone again until he'd been at least sixteen. And again: that had been on a dare.

As an adult there was less to be scared of, but not nothing. There were other memories down here, slightly brighter, others softer, and they left a chilly feeling on his skin as Alice's voice casually told him about the flow of product from these barrels to their buyers.

"We bottle most of it on site still, but unless Chiara and I build a proper bottling facility we're going to start sending more of it by truck to a nearby plant for that step."

"It's incredible how much you've expanded." Just the amount of new land they'd taken hold of over the last ten years, the physical expansion of the winery was incredible. "How far are you planning to go?"

"We have a few perspective clients further east, and I've been travelling more trying to look for partners in the bigger cities." Milan, Florence and Turin then, not just Rome. Feliciano found himself going quiet as he thought about it, pride that didn't belong to him kicking around in his stomach, trying to blossom with a kind of affectionate warmth he probably didn't have a right to share. He wasn't proud because he'd had something to do with it; he was proud because people he knew and who worked so hard for something were beginning to see the rewards for it. "We're still very small, but it doesn't hurt to dream of a national brand, does it?"

"Believe me, Alice, if I had the money I'd invest it in a heart-beat." And somehow with the transition from his mouth back to his ears, those words soured so strongly in the air that with Alice looking across the bottles of wine on the wall, she very well could have been searching for a bottle of vinegar. It was nothing she did or said that caused it, in fact, Feliciano didn't notice her react to his statement at all. It was his own mind that turned:

'_Ludwig would rather cut off his own foot than invest in Italy._' Wine was always a safe investment in a wine-drinking country, but foreign investments in a small, rural business were not. Feliciano's teeth were locked and he was trying to unclench them under the dry hum of the lights overhead.

He knew Alice was smiling as her fingers brushed dust off labels, a small table had appeared through the murky light at rest against a large brick pillar, clearly placed here for special guests and potential buyers. It was a place to set down the glasses and paperwork anyone had, clean to suggest that it was used often and wiped to keep dust or grit from collecting on it. While his hostess made a delighted sound and challenged him to try the wine before handing over his money, Feliciano worked on prying his jaws apart so he could speak and act normally again. Now was not the time for Ludwig.

The heavy knock of a glass bottle landing on the wooden surface pulled him out of his thoughts, some of the tension seeping out of his face as he drifted forward and picked up the vessel. Alice was busy looking for another one on the long rack, breathing out through her lips and murmuring names and dates under her breath.

"That one was very popular last year; your brother sold every bottle he bought from us." A white wine which boasted a softer, subtler undertone of vanilla. He'd already said he wasn't partial to sweet wine but Feliciano understood why she chose it when she clarified how Lovino had used it. Selling the wine was different from serving it, because not every glass of wine a patron drank was necessarily paid for: he'd used that trick yesterday on his own, hadn't he?

"Go ahead and open it- aha!" he put the bottle down, actually, because Feliciano saw her reaching up and placing one foot on an empty row of lattice trying to strain her fingertips around the neck of another bottle. The soft soles of his running shoes scuffed the dirt and stones of the earth floor as he hurried over to her, placing a hand on her side to stop her from pulling the whole rack down on them both. He knew they were sturdy, but still.

"This one?" Shame he wasn't _that much_ taller than her, but when Alice chirped that it was the right bottle he could at least twist it free without resorting to climbing.

"I think you'll like this one, it's a sparkling red." Sparkling? The indigo ribbon tied around the bottle's neck was fringed with white, a marketing scheme meant to emphasize the airy quality of the contents. It was heavy in his hand and the label, he noticed, was also white under the thick layer of dust. He couldn't read the date and there was something written on the side of the bottle, maybe even engraved there because he could feel something under his fingers, but he'd have to take it out into the actual sunlight and wipe it off first. It was strange to see a label that was white and gold, the Valenti family's dark indigo played down despite their crest remaining on the cap.

"Let's try the white one first?" He suggested, not even bothering to ask if it was even alright for them to open settled bottles from the depths of the winery's racks. Alice wasn't the owner's daughter anymore: she was the owner, her sister's partner, so if she decided to open up every bottle then no one would be able to tell her no. Well, no one except Chiara.

"Of course. I _know_ you don't like whites, but trust me?" She gave him such a sweet smile that he almost forgot his hand was still touching her, and then Alice liberated him of the dark bottle before twisting away from him and heading back to the table with the light shining down on her tangled hair. She brushed a few caramel strands back behind her ear as her fingers played with the gold cap on the white wine, finding the little tab that broke the seal and revealed the cork. Feliciano was the one to see the corkscrew hanging on the wall and take it down, handing it to his hostess and settling one hand in his pocket as he watched her easily twist the screw into the soft plug and work it free. She didn't struggle with it, didn't even have to brace the bottle against her body: it came loose like she'd made a polite request and the cork felt obligated to comply.

Only a splash fell to the bottom of each glass, almost a waste until Feliciano realized that the wine would either go with them in the car into Rieti, or would be taken upstairs for service when customers arrived later today. He accepted his glass, the light stem fitting comfortably against the crooks of his fingers, and with a gentle tap together at the edge neither of them took a sip.

"You see the colour?"

"It's perfectly clear." Because Feliciano knew wine, and he was used to being the person at parties and dinners who knew the _most_ about wine, but Alice probably knew more than him now. He'd grown up close to it, but she'd been raised to _make_ it. "I don't smell any vanilla though."

"Deep breaths, Feliciano. Just don't get your nose caught in the glass." _Oh._

"Oh, we're making big nose jokes now?" Was he offended? He felt himself laughing and the sound danced over the dusty barrels surrounding them. "My face is perfectly proportioned, thank you."

"Like a Van Gogh." _Ouch!_

"I'm more into the realists, to tell the truth."

"You know so much about art, but what about wine?"

Feliciano tasted the liquid gold in his hand before she could make fun of him for his red hair next, and he was surprised when the sweet notes in his nose melded with a spark of nearly sour flavour, held back from the brink by one soft, subtle, singing hint of vanilla. Breathing in across his tongue and then back out slowly trying to catch the ghost of spring, he looked down at his glass in surprise.

"That's…" but then he saw her grinning- no, he saw her _preening_ with her cheeks squished and pinched so hard she looked like she was going to start bouncing on her toes, her eyes nearly shut as a teasing little _haha~_ fluttered past her full lips. "It still sounds like a gelato flavour."

"Hah! You liked it!"

"I did not."

"You did!" He did, _but-_ "Feliciano Vargas, the unconquerable tongue, _likes_ a Valenti white."

"I am not unconquerable, I do not _hate_ all white wines, and why did you only give me such a little bit?" He pouted over his glass as a way of not saying outright that he'd enjoyed that taste. He wasn't so sure about drinking an entire glass without some kind of meal to balance it, but what he had just tried had, indeed, been more than he'd expected.

Alice still teased him and poured him another small splash, enough for a few more sips and a chance to actually go and talk their way through what they were tasting and smelling as they drank. One sip for the vanilla, another for the sharp tang of the grapes, this one for the blend of flavour and aroma, and a final two or three sips just thinking of foods to pair with it. Fish? Chicken? What spices? Which textures?

"You're making me hungry, Alice."

"I'm hungry too." Feliciano didn't know why it happened, or what set her off quite like that, but Alice's smile suddenly faltered. The near-joy that had buoyed her up since they'd crept down here together abruptly fled, like she'd remembered something or heard something he was deaf too in what had been gentle laughter. She wasn't looking at him when it happened however, so maybe it wasn't his fault, but when he noticed her gaze falling to the bottle still resting unopened on the table, he was more curious than concerned. "We don't have to open that one if you don't want to, there are plenty of places we can go and get something to eat instead."

"We could take it with us?" He made it a heavy question, dropping his voice where he had been casually leaning against the cool bricks. It seemed like a small thing and when he looked at the table Feliciano almost reached out for the dirty bottle again, but stopped himself. It felt inappropriate. "When was it made?"

"A few years ago." That was vague, but her voice fell when she made the admission. "It, _ah_…" The words failed, but Feliciano found it easier to bear because the reaction frustrated her. Alice scowled, her eyes hardening while her pink lips twisted themselves together sharply, her shoulders pushing themselves back as she placed a hand on her hip and made a soft huff. "It was one of papa's last." And that cleared the matter up completely.

"It's alright if we leave it here then." A memory like that could be very powerful, and Feliciano only very quietly let himself dwell on the comforting fact that she'd even considered sharing it with him, nevermind with the preface that he'd _like_ the vintage if they opened it. "I don't mind. Most of your vines are reds anyways: I'm bound to be blown away by something if even the white wine was this good."

It was an awkward way to praise the drink and try to settle the issue, and maybe that was why it barely worked. Alice was more caught up in her own thoughts than with listening to him anyways.

"I don't really want to take it outside."

"Okay: I'll just put it back then." Setting his glass down next to hers, Alice's arms had been folded but now they moved like she was trying to either hug or restrain herself, hands pinned to her sides as he picked up the white-ribbon bottle and turned to carry it back to its place.

"_Wait._" It sounded like that word hurt her, and it felt like he was doing them both a disservice by stopping and turning around to watch her lose a fight against herself. The way Alice closed her eyes and tried to sort out what kind of shape her closed mouth was making didn't help them, but to him part of it made sense. It was hard wrestling with the loss of a parent, and even worse being around what they'd devoted themselves to. He didn't know how he'd really handle it if he was ever allowed back into his grandparents' house again: the place where his mother's garden hopefully still grew…

"Alice?"

"Bring it with us." So it was her decision, not his, and he wasn't going to try and form an opinion or give advice. It was her winery, and it was her father's memory. "If we don't open it then we don't, but its wine and we should at least give it a chance. Papa always said wine was meant to be drunk." Which was different from saying that wine was meant to be enjoyed, but Feliciano understood, and he remembered hearing those words over and over again throughout his life, even back when he'd been too young to really pay attention to them.

Alice's father didn't rest in his memories the way his uncles both did. He hadn't been a father figure or a family member. He'd always been authoritative and outside the spectrum of family, a powerful neighbour who wasn't there to make sure he succeeded and had probably pushed him more than once just to see if Feliciano would fall or break and prove himself unworthy of being near Alice. Not a cruel man, no- never. But not a man inclined to be much of a mentor or friend to his daughter's _boyfriend_.

But to be fair, considering the kind of memories, innocent and _less-so_ creeping around in the shadows of the Valenti wine cellar, it made sense. When Feliciano didn't even have to stop and think about the unsavoury memories brought up with every awkward pause or broken exchange, it made sense. The cowardly, adulterous Vargas brother had no right to expect anything, filial or friendly, from the Valentis.

"We should go…" And that was why today was not the day he wished it would have been.

"Yes… lets…"

* * *

**The first three pages have drafts going back all the way to December, the following nine pages were written in one day. **_**That's**_** how much I hated the opening scene, but now it's over with and I have a lot of drafts and outlines for the next 2-3 chapters!**

**If you read it, review it!**


	16. Two Panini and Ten Thousand Daisies

**Mi Mancherai, Closer Album****, Glitter in the Air, Try, Stupid in Love, ****.**

**The final scene for this chapter is actually a continuation of a previous dream sequence! What dream sequence, you ask? That's a good fucking question because it turns out I wrote it but then forgot to edit it into chapter 14 where it belonged.**

**It's short and, again, needs to be read in tandem with the one here and I think a third piece that comes later. Really easy to find however: just click back to chapter 14 and it's the first segment right under the title!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

_**The Gay Brother**_

Two Panini and Ten Thousand Daisies

Maybe it was Lovino's fault for getting between them.

Maybe it was Feliciano's fault for not following him.

But no matter what the entire family would always agree: it had in no way been Carlino's fault, although it may have also saved his life.

* * *

From the winery in Alice's car they made quick time up through the hills and following the road to reach town. They'd left without breakfast and a bit of apple-juice and wine had them both pining for a real meal.

"I've missed sunshine like this, I really have!" The convertible would have been better for the gorgeous sunlight and sweet spring air, the village far enough away from Rome that the air was a bit cleaner and the horizon almost pure. It was enough to be faced only with the haze, not the dominating wall of smog from Berlin.

"The sun doesn't shine much in Germany, does it?"

"Oh, she shines just fine," He corrected, but it was a light, thoughtless handful of words. "But she doesn't smile like this, and I live in the city too so there's not nearly enough growing around us." _Us._ He failed to bite back the word and that thoughtlessness stung him, Feliciano rolling his eyes at his own blunder and looking through his window again at the acres of grape-vines and distant orchards owned by other farms.

Wine was the safest distraction from unsavoury German lifestyles. As they reached paved and cobbled stones the car finally slowed down to an eager creep between crooked buildings, and they asked each other what they wanted to eat to go with what they were going to drink. The pizzas that were a little bit salty but had the childhood charm of always being worth the most for their size? Feliciano was glad Alice didn't mention the small restaurant they'd once frequented when a date at his uncle's restaurant had felt too awkward- which had been all the time. When they rumbled past the deli on the hill, they both had the same thought.

"Does he still make those panini?"

"You know I was going to come here for lunch yesterday, but I forgot."

That settled it, but a mere grilled sandwich- stuffed with cured meats and cheese and everything else as they were, wasn't quite the all-star meal. But two panini, a bag of snacks each, and then because Feliciano couldn't resist them a pair of those cinnamon tarts, plus the wine still sitting in the car made a much better impression on both of them. And then even after the food was paid for, they somehow managed to stay on the same wave-length.

"Picnic?"

"I can't believe I didn't pack a blanket."

Because they did actually want to make their way all the way to Rieti today, Alice didn't drive them back in the direction of the grape-vines and instead them on the road moving south away from the winding streets until they hit the highway. They both knew the place and Feliciano put the decision to go there down to two simple factors: it was a beautiful day, and it was on the way to the larger town.

You could go speeding by the exit thinking it was little more than a goat-trail or a dry creek-bed no one had fenced off. Like so many other things: you had to _know_ it was there. Feliciano actually didn't recognize it because the landmark he was looking for was missing. There had always been one particular slab of rock mounted next to the highway and covered in netting to keep it stable, but that was gone when Alice slowed the speeding Fiat down and leaned on the wheel to twist the tires far enough around to make the narrow opening.

"What happened to the old man?" They passed from sunlight into a moment of shade, the heat cutting itself down before the car revved up a little and began climbing up along the winding road. It was still paved, but it took a few moments of careful driving before Alice was able to press on the gas again and propel them along.

"A tourist stopped to take pictures there last summer and was hit by a car." Oh, of all the ridiculous things to- "So the government took it down. The road was closed for a week!"

"Better a week than a month at least."

"A month?" She scoffed, eyes on the road as they sped by a crooked white fence Feliciano _did_ remember, because he'd once been caught trespassing by the owners of the house hidden higher up the hill. "Any man in town could have done it in a day, not those lazy boys they dragged up here to do it instead."

The path they were on evened out as Feliciano asked about what other roads had changed, because even if his visit was a short one he didn't fancy getting lost if he drove further than the village limit. There wasn't much beyond the one missing landmark, but the conversation carried them to the crest of the steep hill they'd been following, and the car seemed to gasp in relief when they made it and looked down at the dell.

"Beautiful…"

"Is it what you remember?"

It was better. A bowl scooped out of the top of the mountains grey, it was only about three or four kilometers before the ups and downs began again, but here in the middle was a different kind of field with a more majestic kind of crop. The farmers on the hill were bee-keepers, and these fields were theirs.

But these flowers under this sky belonged to everyone, all of them daisies: thousands of them- tens of thousands probably. Daisies carpeting the green rolls and rises of the dell with cascades of yellow, cutting through a sea of golden-eyed white blossoms with splashes of pink and blue where the seeds had once scattered. Under the blue dome of the sky the flowers seemed oversaturated, brilliant with their purity and mass that swept Feliciano's eyes across them and confounded senses that loved colour and form so much he'd devoted his life to them.

There was another old story here, another one no one quite believed but everybody told regardless, and as Alice parked them on the side of the road and Feliciano popped his door open so he could hurry around and grab the food, he remembered it. It was an old story, ancient, really.

The story was about Remus, the brother Romulus had slain in order to name their city after himself. When he was still dying the she-wolf that had nursed them took his body and dragged it from Rome into the mountains, and the ink well at his belt burst open and sprayed the daisies with blue, the gold from his jewelry transformed other petals with their yellow glitter, and the blood from his wounds soaked into the ground and blossomed as pink stalks. It was just a myth and it wasn't very popular, it had a meaning Feliciano had tried writing a paper on in college but had ultimately given up on. It was a nonsense story to explain so many colours in one small patch of earth, but as Alice made short work of climbing over the low wooden fence in her skirt and blouse, Feliciano followed with their brunch wrapped in paper and two thin plastic bags.

"Did you get the wine?"

"Oh! I forgot. Which one do you want?"

"The white! Save the red for later." Because dead romans didn't have a place under such brilliant sunlight. There was no reason to spoil the gentle mountain breeze that made the flowers whisper and sigh with thousands of soft leaves and delicate heads turned to the blue sky.

The Fiat chirped with its electric locks right before Feliciano got a hand on the door, locking it. Maybe Alice thought she unlocked it? It chirped again when he pulled the handle and there was the tell-tale _ka-klunk_ of the two acts cancelling each other out.

_Ka-klunk._

_Ka-klunk._

One more- _ka-_ oh for god's sake, Alice. He bowed his head for a moment and let it rest on the blue edge of the door, shoulders shaking because his chest hurt trying not to laugh. He let go of the car and turned around, both arms up.

"Stop that!"

Alice was mimicking him, the food resting at her feet and the keys in her hand with the remote between her fingers.

"I'm trying to help you! You stop!"

"Okay, I'll stop. Now go."

"Go?"

"_Alice!_" She started laughing as soon as she caught up with the joke and Feliciano swung his arms through the air telling her to start walking and choose a spot. "No! No wine for you, obviously you've had enough!"

"Don't you dare say that!" The car chirped properly behind him, unlocked now for sure with two bottles of wine sitting innocently in the back seat. "Half a glass an hour ago is no excuse!"

"That's what I should be saying!" But he opened the car door anyways, reaching inside and checking the two tall paper bags Alice had packaged the wine in as a formality before they'd left. He saw the white label first but searched the next one for the broken indigo seal and marked cork, pulling the bottle out by the neck and realizing at that point that they had no cups. "Do you mind sharing it from the bottle?" It wouldn't be the worst thing they'd ever done, but Feliciano's own thought made him pause.

Where had that come from?

"It's fine. Where do you want to sit?" He tried to shake it off as he knocked the car door closed behind him, letting it chirp or whistle or whatever it was meant to do as Alice locked it again from the other side of the fence. In jeans and runners it was easy for him to hop over the low barrier of piled logs and a few misplaced stone slabs, feet landing on a cushion of green stems and white blossoms. There was no avoiding bruising the flowers when they grew so tightly against each other.

"We can walk until we find shade or sit in the sun, but let's at least get a little further from the car first." What was the point of driving all the way out to a sea of flowers if you were just going to wade in the shallows?

So they walked, and it was a careful, meandering place that let Feliciano watch where he was stepping and try to nudge the daisy heads out of his way so he didn't trample them carelessly. He still stepped on too many for his own liking, but it was the thought that counted. Below the high stalks and spread petals of the tall daisies, there was loamy moss and tiny heads of white fringing more golden centers. It was a little bit of paradise with the hum of bees everywhere and nowhere at the same time: as long as they didn't accidentally sit on one, the honey-makers would leave them both alone.

"I haven't been back here in such a long time." Alice filled the quiet air with conversation, Feliciano minding his steps and at the same time noticing when the flowers vanished under the hem of her skirt only to reappear behind her. "But you used to drive up here all the time, didn't you?"

"My mother really loved their honey, so I'd drive her and Carlino." And usually they'd bring fresh bread from the bakery, but Lovino was usually working during days off from school- he was just that kind of person. "Bring paint supplies or a soccer ball, make an afternoon of it."

"Are you going to take a jar back home with you?" Of the honey? Feliciano looked up from his feet and let his eyes get swept away by the gold ribbons painting themselves through the white hills spreading around them. There were only trees far across the meadow, and that would be where the flowers thinned out and the ground got hard. Without a blanket, they were probably better off here, sitting on the slope of the hill looking away from the road and the car- completely out of sight amongst the flowers.

"I hadn't thought of it. Maybe." Something to remind him of his mother when he took that long train ride back to Berlin… He gave a short laugh, just a fast breath that disturbed his voice: "Whatever I take back I have to carry all the way to the house, packing light is probably better."

"Carry…?" Alice seemed to agree that this spot was good, because they both stopped walking and then slowly folded their legs down into the tangled grass and swaying flowers. The light scent of the daisies was comforting, but quickly overpowered by Alice handing him his toasted sandwich and unwrapping her own from its wax paper.

The bread had gone a little chewy while waiting for them to stop and eat, but one deep, hungry bite off the corner filled Feliciano's mouth with fresh tomato juice and the satisfying texture of warm, folded basil leaves sliding open over his tongue. The meat was just salty enough to balance it, smokey and so much better than German sausage regardless of whatever Ludwig had to say- now if he would just stop coming up in Feliciano's thoughts.

"I've missed these too…" He really had, just the way the cheese was still warm and stuck to his teeth only a little bit, rolling with the other flavours before he heard the pop of a cork and saw Alice delicately tip the bottle of wine back for a sip. She actually pulled it off gracefully, and held it to him so he could add one more cascade of flavours to the medley in his mouth.

He could taste the vanilla right away, and those sour white grapes played perfectly with the rest of it.

Correction: he'd missed _this_ too. All of this. The scenery, the sunshine, the breeze, the food, the wine…

"They don't have panini in Germany either?"

"They have the presses." But not that subtle hint of something he was equal parts too hungry and too overwhelmed to taste in the bread, but he knew it was there. The way it was greased with olive oil from their region, not butter from some German dairy farm. The flavour of local meats instead of just salt paired with green-house tomatoes and rehydrated herbs. "It's… not the same."

And wine, not beer, and not cheaper German wine or internationally marketed Italian wines: real, good, proper Italian wine from a winery he knew operated by people who were almost family- had almost been family. He stole another sip before biting his sandwich again, handing the bottle back and trying to keep his eyes on the flowers.

"Feliciano?" he tried, and then he wiped his eyes with one hand as if he had a headache, knocking his sunglasses and letting the true intensity of the sun and the colours hit him for a moment before the brown shades fell back over them. He was this overwhelmed by a tinted, washed out version of what was in front of him, and the hand that touched his shoulder and then moved down his arm didn't help. "Are you okay?" He should have been okay, he should have felt fine. He was out from under Chiara's toxic influence and he wasn't stuck dealing with a family that hated him, Feliciano should have been calmly enjoying his brunch with Alice and admiring the dell around them. Instead he was not.

"_Do you ever feel like you don't know where home is?"_ He didn't expect her to answer the question, in fact he knew she wouldn't be able to because he switched into German on purpose.

How would someone who'd never needed to question where she belonged be able to answer something like that, and what kind of person would Feliciano have been if he forced the issue between them? But he needed to say it, so he said it in the language of the people and the country that had done everything to try and be his new home, but that would probably never take the place of the old one.

"No." And then he fell back into Italian, because it was the one that didn't require any thought or intention. He didn't have to think about the sounds or the verbs or the pronunciation- the intonation was ingrained and the vocabulary limitless. He could say anything in Italian, Feliciano just wouldn't. "I'm not okay." And he smothered the rest of the words with another painful bite of home and closed his eyes this time, forehead resting on his free hand so he could try and calm down and not let his expression betray him any further. He'd admitted it and now that was going to be the end of it.

But she was still touching his arm, holding on actually with her hand clasped just over the cuff of his short sleeve. They were making terrible time getting to Rieti for the rest of their day, but that was probably Feliciano's fault for not paying attention to how much nostalgia was welling up around him. Daisies and honey and that longing for something he wasn't sure he was going to have again, that comfort that wasn't _like_ home because it _was_ home…

"Talk to me..?" That mouthful of bread and everything it was supposed to be was washed away by another drink of wine when the bottle found its way back into his empty hand. It was wrong to swallow such a good vintage so boldly, it was fine wine and not a cheap three euro bottle, but he treated it crassly and dropped his head between his knees where his legs were propped in front of him, breathing around the after-taste of alcohol. Slowly, with eyes still closed Feliciano used both hands to wrap his sandwich back up in the paper protecting his hand from the mess inside, and he nearly threw it off into the flowers except that would have been petulant. "What happened in Berlin?"

"I walked out." Covering his face with both hands and rubbing his palms hard over his cheeks and nose wasn't much better, but it was less destructive. "I begged Lovino for months to get him to come up to Berlin, _months_." Regardless of whatever lies his brother had been telling everyone else here in town. "But the day after he arrived he was thrown out, and I didn't get one ounce of respect before or after it was done. I'd never been so angry…" He had been since, but not before- no. Mario had found a pit of hellfire buried deep in Feliciano that he hadn't even known he possessed, but Ludwig had dug the tunnel down that way first.

"So you stormed out?"

"Almost, I was coward." He should have just packed that night and left, but he hadn't: just like how right now he couldn't take his hands off his face, not even when Alice took the sunglasses off his head where they were barely clinging to his knuckles trying to stay up. She was so close to him, but he didn't care. "I slept in the garage and tried to clean up the next morning- the house was a mess. I refused to talk about it, my partner went to work as usual, but then _that_-" No. "-but then _the brother_ came upstairs. You can say what you want about my brothers, Alice but they're still my brothers, and when that bastard started laughing and saying shit about lovino I punched him and left."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm not proud of it but I'm not a liar." Without his sunglasses Feliciano had to open his eyes slowly, dragging his hands down his face and running back through his hair where the sun was making it hot. He wanted to lay back on the grass and flowers, but kept himself sitting up and shook his head slowly before looking down at the daisies swaying around them. There was mediocre comfort in being hidden up to his knees in greenery.

"You don't even have a temper though, not like Lovino's." No, not like his brother- not like either of them actually. But:

"Not having a bad temper doesn't mean I don't get mad, Alice." She took a turn with the wine bottle as he spoke, and maybe that eased the moment just a little bit. She wasn't horrified to the point of rapt attention, but rather focusing enough to join him with the minor indulgence. "Plenty of things can make me angry, I just hold it in better than others." And other times, like last Tuesday or even yesterday, the rage just came roaring out of him.

"Have you talked to her since then?" Feliciano tsked sharply and rolled his head and finally dropped onto his back on the cool grass. _Her. Her. Her._ How much longer was he going to be able to handle that stupid lie?

"Wednesday, on the train." But for now he just answered the question, because anything less would take this conversation from awful to terrible, and probably leave him stranded in the mountains with a two hour walk from here to a house that wouldn't let him back inside once they knew the truth. "I said if anyone tried to contact me about us- friends or anything like that, then I'd break things off completely."

His exact words, if Feliciano remembered correctly, had been _"then you can keep the fucking keys!"_

Taking a deep breath full of sweet air, he had one hand up over his eyes just to shade them, Alice sitting next to him on her hip in the crushed grass, most of her weight braced on one hand lost in the green and the other still lightly touching the covered part of his arm. Between the sunlit glare and his own hand he couldn't really see her face, at least not her eyes, but she sounded almost sad when she spoke again.

"But then this morning you tried calling her instead?" _Her. Her. Her._

"It was hard to be alone after she died." Feliciano's mother had little, if anything really, to do with things. She was just a reference point, a moment in time he would always be able to remember and use as a gauge for everything that came before or after. "I was angry when I left, but maybe when I go back we'll be ready to talk." There would definitely be a lot for them to discuss, because Feliciano didn't know if his outburst with Gilbert had really solved anything. It had taken Feliciano three years to lash out from the stress, but he wouldn't live to see forty if he made himself go through that kind of strain every few years.

"Was one fight really enough for you to leave her, just like that?"

"It's never just about one thing or one fight, Alice." He almost added that this was something she should have known, but he swallowed the bitter words because they were unfair. No one had told her why things had broken down the way they had, no one had given her more than one, two reasons at most because his family had refused to tell her, and Feliciano was too scared to break the silence. He was still a coward.

But with those dreary final words on the matter, they sank into the natural quiet of the dell and didn't speak again. There was still food and wine, but somewhere over the mountains there was also the whisper of the highway melding smoothly into the sigh of the wind.

He wasn't full, but he was suddenly so tired that half a perfect sandwich under the sun and such heavy talk were all working together to drag him down, down, down. It was so bright out, but with his body cushioned by the cool green grass and the soft touch of daisy petals on his skin, Feliciano knew his eyes were growing heavy. The sky darkened from unbroken, sun-splashed blue to grey and plumb as his lashes shaded him, his hand twisting to rest its back against his forehead, his arm blushed by the heat and caressed by the breeze.

His body had no right to feel so relaxed, but when he heard the rustle of deli paper closing itself and then the whisper of another person settling between daisy heads and green stems, it soothed him. Knowing she didn't want to fight with him, she didn't want to challenge or force her way through something he didn't want to talk about- they didn't even need that code word they'd decided on, they just knew: not right now. No more for now.

And that thought calmed him down. It coaxed his eyes closed and it told him that the whisper of sunburn wasn't enough to make him get up again after fighting this long only to fall. The sun turned the screen of his eyes into a starburst of bright crimson and golden darkness, and he was gone.

* * *

So, what was a woman's kiss like?

A woman by definition was different from a man, but how? Softer, maybe? Physically speaking most were smaller, shorter, lighter- but not by much and never as a rule. There were no rules: Feliciano's friend Berwald was about as fussy and mothering with his kids as any woman Feliciano had ever known, and his boss's wife Elizabetha could easily take down a man Ludwig's size if provoked.

But a woman's _kisses_ were playful things. They brushed and bumped noses, laughing deep in their throat with smiles and whispers. A woman's kiss blocked the world out because she would run up behind you and leap onto you back with her arms around your neck. She would overwhelm with fast, quick-fire kisses peppering cheeks and neck while you spun around trying to shake her off before your brothers or, god forbid, _her father_ could see you.

A woman would use her hands, gentle, kind things, to cover your eyes after standing chest-to-chest waiting to move in, blacking out your surroundings until the only thing left to subsist on was her sent and her touch and her taste. Whether you were down on the old dock or hiding half-scared and completely alive between oversized barrels of wine praying not to get caught, her kisses meant everything.

A man's kiss, it really seemed, was a very physical thing. A man's embrace was earthly and comforting, influenced by what was happening to and around you in that moment of approach and embrace. It was like life, it was like every sensation bound up in the folds of strong arms and against the grain of firm lips.

So a woman's kiss, in contrast, was something less experiential and more internal. It made the world feel so small it wasn't even worth recognizing. It was pure emotion- the overwhelming thrill, the satisfying need, and so much tenderness and affection meant to mesmerize both participants.

They were the strangest thoughts to wake up to in the grass under the open sky and beating sun, but as Feliciano barely forced his eyes open, he found the added weight curled up on his arm reassuring. Tangled stems and daisy heads were the only things he could really make out in the brilliant glare, but that was okay; he was not afraid. A comforting breeze and the scent of crushed grass, the far away whine of the highway, and someone to hold onto- whoever it was.

And it didn't matter who anymore, because his sleepy and exhausted mind craved rest, and his flesh just wanted company. For the first time in four days Feliciano had not woken up alone, and that satisfaction was what sent him peacefully back to sleep…

* * *

**Another day is taking a really long time, I had a feeling this outing would take three chapters and tried hurrying it along to two, but ultimately that didn't work. Oh well!**

**Leave a review, maybe?**


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